


Put Down The Knife (the night is here)

by Astalitha, Kaiserine



Series: Effortless As Fire (Dragonverse) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dragon!Obi-Wan, Dragonverse, Flirting, M/M, Past Character Death, Redemption, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, This is Not a Dark Side AU, doing unspeakable things to the clone wars time line, gradually escalating D/s themes, shapeshifter romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astalitha/pseuds/Astalitha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserine/pseuds/Kaiserine
Summary: Ten years after the battle of Naboo, Anakin Skywalker faces a mysterious Sith dragon Obi-Wan Kenobi during the battle of Ryloth.Still mourning the loss of Master Qui-Gon at Geonosis, Anakin is struggling to find his place in the Jedi order, and bring the clone wars to an end. And now the Council are hiding something, the dragon won't leave him alone, and Master Qui-Gon's legacy is in doubt.Drawn inexorably to the fey and charming dragon, Anakin is caught in a deadly game of give and take, with his life, dignity and reputation on the line.Or:The one where Obi-Wan is a shapeshifting dragon, and hewon't stop flirting with Anakin.Note:You may notice the number of chapters reducing as I streamline and rewrite sections of this fic.





	1. The Droplet Falls

**Author's Note:**

> The previous installment in this series, "And The Moon It Fell Down", is not required reading - but recommended, if you want a clearer idea of where Obi-Wan is coming from.

The dragon that appears on Ryloth is like no dragon Anakin has ever heard of. It’s nothing like Ventress, who is vicious and slick like oil, or Maul, who had made nine year old Anakin feel like the inside of his lungs were being turned to ice and tied into a knot at the same time. This dragon’s presence is as dark and clear as the desert night, and cool as the breeze underneath a gloaming sky.

It’s been a long, hard, and messy campaign. The GAR have been wrestling for a foothold on the planet for weeks, but finally, they are gaining ground. The dragon Ventress, who’s been a scourge since she first appeared, hasn’t been seen near Ryloth for several days. Intel puts her on Christophsis, trying to retake the planet from Master Fisto.

That leaves Anakin dealing with droid troops, commanded by predictable tactical units. Anakin has managed to push them back into one of the rangey canyons that score the landscape of Ryloth, and he’s having fun picking them off as he drives them towards the capital.

They’re so close. Half his troops lead a punishing attack on the left flank from above, forcing them close to the cliff face. Anakin leads the squad tackling them head on, deflecting blaster shots that free his troops to litter the enemy ranks with pulse grenades, EMP missiles, and long range blaster fire.

Then a shadow passes across the battlefield. A warning bite in the Force, urgent like wildfire. It prickles like teeth in the back of Anakin’s neck.

“Dragon!”

Anakin dives into the Force without thinking, hot, animal panic lending him the strength and speed to protect his men. Moments later, coppery flames explode across the ranks. He tries to channel the onslaught away from his troops, but these flames are insidious, creeping past his shields and barriers to lick cruelly across the shoulders of his men. A bone white terror, huge and spined, soars across the battlefield. The hot Ryloth sun scatters in blinding, golden curlicues across its flank.

Anakin pushes back, moving the air itself to vent away the flames, until he’s shaking with the strain. He refuses to give in and allow his men to suffer the brunt of the fire. The blast seems to last forever, and he stands there sweating through the heat, both from the fire on the physical plane and the roiling inferno in the Force.

With Anakin occupied, Rex barks orders. His troops aim their cannons skywards, sending a volley of blasts towards the dragon. It spirals higher, until the range of its fire is surpassed.

When the flames finally stop, Anakin sags with relief. He peers up, still dazed and half blind. For a moment, it seems like the dragon has totally disappeared. He only just draws his saber up in time to meet his opponent, who drops out of the air like a lightning bolt, red blade sizzling, and stinking of hot metal.

The dragon, now human shaped, lands a punishing strike straight from its dive, sending vibrations along Anakin’s arms. The dark side crackles, the Force pivoting around a new focal point -  the attacker, who follows the first blow with a heavy sideways sweep towards Anakin's legs.

Anakin blocks clumsily, still exhausted, and pushes his opponent back with a hasty Force shove. The man-shaped beast falters, and Anakin has a chance to look at it properly - russet hair, crisp white robes and armour, and mad gold eyes. Its Force presence gleams with mischievous malice, like marsh fire spirits. It regains its balance easily, and takes a defensive posture.

“Skywalker?” it asks.

“You bet,” Anakin replies.

“Delighted,” says the dragon, returning Anakin’s savage grin.

It draws itself into the opening stance of Soresu. An odd choice - Ventress is brutally aggressive, much as Maul had been.

In the distance, the droid army are regrouping, turning to face the onslaught from the left flank. Rex is pulling the frontal assault round to keep them penned in while Anakin handles the dragon. He needs to finish this quickly. He’s fought dangerous opponents before, and matched Ventress more than once. He’s never yet defeated a dragon in combat - but there’s time yet. This is an opportunity to prove himself.

The dragon twirls its saber, and Anakin jerks into a guard position.

"Careful now," it says. Its voice is rich and glassy, with a sneering Coruscanti accent. "You allow yourself to be distracted, young one. It will be your undoing."

He sounds so _smug_. It’s irritating. Anakin says nothing, raising his own blade in preparation. He checks his footing, steadies himself, breathes deeply. He doesn’t need to give in to the goading, as he would have years ago. Nevertheless, Anakin feels the first thrill of adrenaline for the coming battle.

The dragon lunges at him impatiently. Anakin catches the red blade with his own, but the dragon’s saber curves wickedly around Anakin's guard, forcing him to the side. Anakin tries a few testing blows, trying to gauge its strength. Ventress never lets up, and her blows are deceptively heavy. This dragon is different. He favours sliding, elusive movements, blocking Anakin’s strokes easily with indefatigable soresu, and always seeking to hook his blade or get in close for a deadly short range strike.

Anakin’s blade skips along the dragon’s, and they grapple for a moment, close enough that Anakin can see soft creases at the corner of the dragon’s eyes. A few fine hairs slide through Anakin’s fingers.

Anakin pushes away, giving ground. Then he surges forward, aiming a heavy spinning slash to the dragon’s back.

Something catches around his boots, a sneaky maneuver in the Force. He staggers, trips, caught at the worst moment of his step, and goes down face first.

He rolls, desperately trying to get his saber up in time to catch whatever killing blow the dragon has aimed for his back. He’s shocked when his blade meets nothing but thin air.

Anakin scrambles to his knees, spitting out sand and mud, fists clenched.

“Look at you, rolling in the dirt like a nerf calf. Are you Jedi or are you beast?” the dragon asks cheerfully.

Anakin’s cheeks flush, as he cringes with mortification. It’s a surprisingly familiar feeling - Qui-Gon’s tactics were often unscrupulous (and playful, Anakin recalls regretfully), especially in training when he wanted to keep Anakin on his toes. Except this isn’t Qui-Gon harassing him in the training rooms. This is a serious battle in the middle of a heated campaign, with a deadly enemy who Anakin is at war with.

“At least I don’t fight dirty,” Anakin mutters, half to himself.

The dragon stares down at him, all pointed beard and pretty, sneering mouth.

“Oh, do you not? I suppose you must be above that, Jedi.” The dragon smiles. His eyes rake up and down Anakin, from his mud stained knees to his blaster charred pauldrons. Anakin shivers.

Made uncomfortable by the direction of his thoughts, Anakin wrenches himself upwards, abdominal muscles straining, and strikes out with a wild blow. The dragon bats away his saber with a light tap, strategically placed. Anakin slides his blade forwards, reaching inside the dragon's guard, but with another twist he is forced away.

The dragon laughs. “A good attempt for sure. What will you try next?”

“Don’t push me,” Anakin snaps.

“Push you? Push you to what?” the dragon asks, resettling into an opening stance for Anakin’s next maneuver.

A hot, burning sensation creeps up Anakin’s neck, as his stomach churns sickly. He suddenly wants nothing more than to smear the dragon into a fine paste across the barren Ryloth dirt. His shame-born anger is right there. He could use it to win this battle easily, he’s certain of it.

Qui-Gon’s lessons: The emotion is there, the action need not reflect it.

Anakin throws himself into the saber play instead. He’s good at it, one of the best among all his peers and elders alike. The dragon really is underestimating his skill. He’d been too rash before. The dragon arcs it’s saber, testing Anakin’s guard with quick, well placed hits.

“Better,” says the dragon, and Anakin punishes it for the comment with a blow that sends it staggering.

It grins as it recovers, straightening its spine languorously. The hot Ryloth sun scatters across its pale, sharp cheekbones, and the oddly genial creases at the corner of its eyes.

He really had been clumsy before - both with his movements and his emotions.

Anakin clenches his jaw, and they begin again. Finding his rhythm, Anakin is absorbed in the duel, in bright splashes of red and blue. Their movements become more artful, morphing into familiar and complex rhythms and exchanges.

Anakin is being driven away from his troops - isolated. That’s a good thing. The dragon is further away from his men, and Anakin is facing him alone, on his own terms, without fear of collateral. His movements come easier for it, his shoulders slackening. A grin curves at the corner of his lips. He’s been aching for a good fight, to find a foe he can test himself against.

The dragon is allowing it. He’s intentionally letting Anakin use his flashiest moves, setting up each step ahead of time. Anakin lets it happen, working in complex steps and movements that serve no purpose other than being fun. Their eyes meet, and a thread of shared thought passes between them. It’s an understanding - a strange and temporary truce in the heat of battle. Anakin is enjoying himself, and aware that he is being enjoyed in turn.

There is movement in the Force. For a moment, Anakin is open to the dragon’s mind. He senses a shimmering delight overlaid on the heady, sickening vortex of the dark side, and a repeating thought - _this is the one, this one is mine._

Unnerved, he pushes back with his heaviest blows and wildest tactics. The dragon matches him in combat skill, but the Force is with it, spinning the duel to its favour. For every trick Anakin tries, the dragon has a countering maneuver that leaves him giving ground and off balance.

“Can you do no better? Try _harder_. Give _more_ ,” the dragon purrs. Its golden eyes are wild, its white robes dusty. A pearly pink sheen of saber light scatters across the ceramic plates of its chest armour. It looks glorious, somehow, as if the battle has infused it with a bright and glowing vigor.

Anakin feels a sudden urge to reciprocate, to let their battle drag until he’s exhausted, until he doesn’t have to worry about his anger and frustration clouding his actions, because he’ll have no strength left to act.

His heart thumps in his chest and the Force churns like the whorls of hyperspace. For a moment, he flounders in the grip of it, as it curls in towards the dragon like space towards a singularity. Bright trails of intention follow their movements, trailing through the Force like glittering fiber optics. Possibilities flicker wildly and die with the ebb and flow between them, a single luminous wire unspooling from Anakin, coupling to the dragon’s surging and sucking presence.

“Give me _more_ ,” the dragon repeats, and its eyes darken. It licks its lips.

Anakin’s mind echoes with what he guesses is a dragon’s version of a Force suggestion - _give_.

He can’t. He mustn’t. Anakin comes back to himself with a snap, his ears ringing with the distant blaster fire from the battle that’s still ongoing.

 _No_.

Furious that he’s allowed himself to be distracted, Anakin slams after the dragon. The dragon’s eyebrows arch with momentary surprise, panic, even. Then it smiles, catching his eyes, its own glinting with humour.

Anakin realises he is doing as asked - he is giving more. Or at least, he could be. The Force whispers a strange idea to him - he could choose to offer his fury and energy as a gift.

A gift for a dragon. A sacrifice.

 _No_. He’s not _giving_ anything, what is he thinking? He must be under some kind of compulsion.

Rather than continue his assault, he leaps clear, trying to get some space between them so he can take a few breaths. He keeps the blade of his saber lit, but he angles it down - unaggressive, Jedi-like. Qui-Gon would be proud. He counts through Qui-Gon’s lessons, watching the dragon carefully, determined not to attack first.

The dragon tenses, cocking its head. Anakin steadies himself, tightening his grip on his saber.

An explosion cracks through the canyon, shaking the ground under Anakin’s feet.

“Looks like your men are making progress,” says the dragon, smiling brightly.

“We’ll accept your surrender any time,” Anakin replies, feeling an unbidden smirk tugging at his lower lip.

“Perhaps another time, thank you,” it says. High spots of colour show just above its bearded cheeks. It's panting with exhilaration. “But now, we are done. I have a retreat to cover... I’ll see you again, dear one.”

“Wait-!”

The dragon is out of reach - it dashes forward, and Anakin raises his blade, but then it leaps. In mid air it shifts, the Force curling around it and parting to reveal its true form - a shimmering white beast with ragged, leathery wings that carry it up across the battlefield.

“-What’s your name?” Anakin finishes, even though there’s no chance of reply.

Anakin stares after the dragon, caught in awe by the power of the Force. For a long moment, he feels like he’s being yanked upwards too. The strings of light formed between them during their sparring stretch and stretch, until they are fine enough to disappear. Anakin is released from the pull, his chest heaving.

\--

Anakin doesn’t let himself think about the battle again until after he’s reported in to the Council. Or at least, he doesn’t mean to. The campaign on Ryloth still requires his support, and he’s so frustrated he doesn’t trust himself to stay in control. Still, the fight weighs on his mind, and no matter how much meditation he inflicts on himself, he can’t seem to shake it.

Every time he settles himself down to rest, those words echo in his mind: This is the one, this one is mine.

His usual methods of clearing his mind are useless - katas bring him back to the fluid, dance-like sparring he’d engaged in. Working in his starfighter makes him think about modifications he could make to help tackle the dragon in aerial combat.

Once, he tries traditional meditation, kneeling in repose on the bunk of his cabin. That just brings back memories of kneeling in the dirt, and he stops quickly, an angry flush covering his neck and creeping up to his ears.

Before, Qui-Gon had many methods to calm him when he felt like this. He’d learned fast: Anakin has never been like a normal Jedi. He just doesn’t think the same way. Once they figured that out, he and Qui-Gon had learned how to manage together. Qui-Gon always helped Anakin to think his things through, to try and reason out his emotions and find a way back to the will of the Force, and in most cases the Jedi code.

But Qui-Gon’s not here anymore, and there’s no one else Anakin can talk to. Guiltily, he thinks of contacting his mother. He promised Qui-Gon he wouldn’t, not after the last time he’d visited Tatooine. Not after he’d saved her, that one last time. He can’t ask Qui-Gon for permission. And he’d promised.

The Council have tried to step in to guide him since Qui-Gon’s passing, but they probably wouldn’t think much of most of Qui-Gon’s lessons.

In the end, Anakin resorts to his last line of defense: forcibly not thinking about things. He’s never been particularly good at that, and it leaves him feeling restless and angry at nothing.

By the time it comes around, giving his report is a welcome relief that overrides the frustration he usually struggles with. He keeps it short and to the point - as dry as possible, and devoid of interest. They fought the droids, Anakin fought a new dragon, and the Separatists retreated.

"Another dragon, you say?" Master Yoda presses. His holo flickers as he moves, tapping his chin in thought.

“Yes. It nearly roasted us. We weren’t ready for that kind of assault. We drove it off, I fought it, then it left to cover the retreat.”

“Another dragon seems unlikely,” says Ki-Adi Mundi. “Are you certain it was not the assassin Ventress?”

“I’m certain. I got a look at its human shape.”

Yoda and Windu trade a look. He can’t believe he’s having to argue this with the Council - not after the disaster that nearly came of them not believing Qui-Gon about Maul. But then, he's always carried the burden of having an eccentric Master. The Council never seemed to fully trust Qui-Gon, for all Anakin doesn't understand why.

"And this dragon," says Master Windu, evenly, "how would you describe it?"

"Big. Toothy. Lots of fire," Anakin says flatly, wondering why, exactly, it's important. A dragon is a dragon.

“Yes, yes, a dragon,” Yoda sighs, as if Anakin is being deliberately obtuse. “A dragon you saw. But its other shape, its form… what kind, did it take?”

"You say it took the form of a man?” Windu prompts.

Anakin nods, folding his arms around his chest.

"It- he- looked about thirty. Maybe less, maybe more. Red hair. Pale. He wore cream and white - almost like a Jedi, but he used the dark side."

A furrow appears between Master Windu’s brows. Yoda strokes his chin, his ears twitching. They stare at one another for a long time. Windu nods, then Master Yoda.

"Suspected for a long time, we have, that you would face this enemy on the field of battle."

A muscle twitches in Anakin’s temple. It would have been nice of them to tell him that before. "That dragon nearly destroyed us!” Anakin sighs heavily, trying to breathe out his exasperation rather than raise his voice. It only half works.

“We weren’t prepared to handle a dragon. We may have forced the Separatists back but it came at a cost! We’re still counting our losses!”

The holoprojector flickers, buzzing. Windu’s eyes bulge.

Anakin swallows, bites back the snarl perched behind his teeth.

“Apologies, Masters,” says Anakin contritely. He wonders how much worse it would have been if he hadn’t distracted the dragon. Or how much better it could have been if he’d finished the battle quickly, and gone back to what was actually important, rather than leaving his men to face the droid troops alone.

“It was a suspicion, Skywalker, not intel. The Council does not share every unconfirmed prediction or scrap of half formed insight with any Knight curious enough to take interest where they ought not,” Windu reprimands.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin replies. His hands curl tightly around his arms.

“Trust in the Force, we must,” says Yoda, as vague as ever. “And in hope. But the Sith, the dark side… their corruption… ever a blight upon our hope they are.”

Anakin wants to tell Yoda that hope isn’t a sound military strategy, but something about the old Master’s sad bearing helps him hold his tongue. Yoda always seems so tired and solemn lately.

So in the end, Anakin finishes up his report, and says nothing until the fizzing holo projection has winked out.

Anger squirms uncomfortably under his skin. He rakes his hands through his hair, trying to relieve the pressure growing in his temples. He’s dragged through flurries of half formed thoughts - how dare they not warn him? Why do they still not trust him?

And another dragon, on top of all the others who have come before: Maul. who at least is dead and gone, and Ventress, and now this. The bone white scales, the nacreous golden sheen, metal and sulfur, and how dare the Council not warn him?

Qui-Gon’s lessons: Let go. You feel it, but you don’t need it. You’re angry, but anger will not bring you what you want.

Anakin doesn’t even know what he wants, or perhaps what he wants is to be angry. Anger feels like the appropriate (or perhaps, appropriately inappropriate) response. It’s probably leftover aggression from the fight. He feels cooped up, under pressure, like a hydraulic pump ready to pop. At the same time, he feels stretched thin - like some part of him has been yanked and spooled out into impossibly fine, brittle wire. He stalks out of the briefing room, bypasses the mess, and heads straight to his cabin.

He stretches. He sketches circuit boards unenthusiastically. He meditates, even more unenthusiastically, deliberately not thinking about dirt or sand or a soft lipped sneer. His exercises do nothing to help the anger, and in the end it fizzles into a cloudy disquiet that pollutes his mood and leaves him restless and uncomfortable.

Qui-Gon’s lessons, again: What are you really feeling?

For a few, blazing, glorious seconds on the battlefield he’d felt so good, and so right. Everything had seemed so clear and obvious, and he’d relaxed into the ebb and flow, give and take of the battle.

And now he’s back here, in his cabin, with only his bad temper for company. A sense that he and the dragon will inevitably meet again. He keeps coming back to that - when will it be? He tries and fails to put it out of his mind.


	2. An Insolence, Effortless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 of [If You Need Me, I Can Always Be Found ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083655)is recommended reading prior to this chapter. This fic covers snap shots of Anakin and Qui-Gon's relationship in more detail, and may provide interesting, useful and adorable insights that aren't covered here :)
> 
> This chapter has undergone revision as of 4th December.

Anakin sits in the cockpit of his Y-Wing, deep in meditation, with his eyes closed to block out the crazy swirling of hyperspace around his tiny craft. The meditation is sorely needed. In the months since his battle with Kenobi on Ryloth, a sensation of disquiet, and low level foreboding has refused to leave him be.

The foreboding isn’t helped by the fact that the Order pulled him out of Ryloth only days after their encounter. Mace Windu and Aayla Secura may be better choices when it comes to fixing the fraying relationship with the local dissidents. If it were just that, Anakin wouldn’t feel half so slighted, but Vos is there supporting his old Padawan. Vos may be many things, but a skilled diplomat is not one of them - he’s probably the only person in the order worse than Anakin at politics and astute negotiations.

Anakin reminds himself that he’s meant to be meditating, not worrying about Ryloth again. At the very least, he’s back in space where he belongs, rather than stuck in a long, drawn out land war. Let Windu deal with that one - Anakin is more than happy to be back with the Resolute.

Despite the depths of his concentration, it only takes a slight whistle from his instrument panel to bring him back to the present. He checks his scopes - they’re only a few minutes out from Felucia now, and their brief Rendezvous with the resolute before they set to work punching through the planetary blockade.

A few minutes later Anakin bursts out of hyperspace. Felucia, and the Separatist blockade loom ahead of him. His men blink out of the black behind him, and as a single entity they burst forward past the hull of the Resolute, charging like a hammer blow towards the surface of the planet.

His men rattle off their numbers, checking in.

“Gold Squadron, Gold leader. Fall in behind me, and head for the surface. Take out anything in your way, but save torpedos till we break atmo.”

“Copy that Gold Leader,”

“Flight one, when we get down there focus fire on the artillery, we’ve got to break up their formations so we can land and get more boots on the ground. Flight two with me, we’ll be taking out their air support.”

Anakin grins viciously. He can feel the energy of his men in the Force, all of them hyperfocused, following his lead. They break into the blockade, ignoring the frigates that are more concerned with fending off the wave after wave of fire from the Resolute.

A flight of vulture droids attempt to loop behind them, but Anakin pays them no heed for the time being.

In moments, they break past the bulk of the frigates. “Alright men, let’s get these clankers off us.”

The squadron team up into pairs to take out the vulture droids. Between the skill of his men, and Anakin’s own brand of crazy flying, they manage to totally scrap the droids in less than a minute.

They break for atmo at top speed, heading for the eastern continent where Master Plo is losing ground to an overwhelming Droid onslaught. Anakin’s team will be paving the way for a huge influx of reinforcements, that will hopefully keep the republic from losing Felucia entirely.

Anakin senses it as they plunge through the mesosphere - a strange, acrid feeling in the Force, a buckling like hot metal under pressure.

It’s a feeling he recognises from Ryloth.

As his squadron swoop over the battlefield, Anakin watches the white dragon twist and yaw over Plo’s men, scorching them with a hail of fire. A battery of artillery fire forces it back into the air, plasma bolts bursting just short of it’s tail.

Plo’s troops are struggling valiantly. Both the Kel Dor Master, and his Togruta pupil, are combining their efforts to keep the fire off the machinery and men. As the dragon swoops down for a second round of fire, the two Jedi form a barrier much as Anakin had, trying to shift the air itself so the fire can’t make contact. Another barrage of artillery fire breaks close to the dragon. Frustrated, it swoops down like a bird of prey, snatching men from their stations and wheeling away before they can catch him with their cannons.

“Flight One - head north and deal with the clankers. Flight two - focus fire on the dragon. Torpedos at the ready.”

Anakin and his flight make the first pass of the dragon, lining up to deliver carefully targeted laser bolts at it’s wings, belly, chest. The dragon circles ahead of them, maneuvering swiftly. It collides with one of the fighters at the end of the flight. The fighter tumbles towards the planet, streaming smoke. Anakin doesn’t get a chance to see if the pilot ejected.

“Scatter! Don’t let it get near you!”

His squadron split apart in pairs, harrying the dragon from above, below, beside. It weaves easily between their shots. In a burst of Force usage, the dragon directs several of their torpedos towards their own crafts.

“Something's wrong with my scopes - I can’t get a proper reading,” says one his men, over the comm - Anakin is too busy evading dragon fire to tell exactly who.

Anakin glances at his scopes - the dials and lights are flashing madly. He’s been flying with the Force as his guide, as he usually does, but his men don’t have that luxury. The dragon is using the Force to baffle their scopes. Even the air currents feel strange, slightly off. Anakin is flying on instinct alone.

It worked best last time when he had the dragon on its own. He’d been able to let loose without fear of collateral. If he can keep it occupied, then the men will have a better time supporting Plo on the ground.

“Flight two, head for the ground and help keep the dragon off General Koon. I’m going to do what I can to chase it off.”

Anakin peels away from his squad. He has to get the dragon’s attention.

As his men descend towards the ground, forming a protective shield above Plo’s troops, Anakin takes after the dragon, sending a hail of laserfire in its direction. The dragon rolls out of the way, though a few glancing blows bounce off its scales. It retaliates not at Anakin but at the troops - it sweeps low, drenching his men’s fighters with fire. Anakin aims some angry blasts at its wings, but the dragon moves too quickly, wheeling so Anakin’s shots go wide.

The dragon isn’t coming after him. It doesn’t realise that it’s Anakin firing at him. Anakin is certain that if the dragon recognises him, it’ll come after him. He needs to make it clear. Instead of using his cannons, he reaches into the Force. What he’s planning is ridiculously stupid. The Force is slippery, stretched and folded by the dragon’s presence. Anakin moves past that. He lets go of his conscious control of his craft, trusts his body to react in time.

He spreads his mind out, across the battlefield, through the air, until he feels the shape of the dragon. The fine threads that formed during their battle on Ryloth are shimmering, twining together. Anakin traces them, not sure where they’re coming from or how they appeared. He remembers the sensation he’d had when his and the dragon’s thoughts drifted together. That would get its attention…

He opens himself momentarily, focusing very hard on communicating a picture of what he plans next. Then, grinning to himself, he wraps his mind around the dragon’s tail. Pleased with his own mischievousness, he tugs.

The effect is immediate. The dragon plummets nearly two hundred meters, wings corkscrewing through the air. It roars. Anakin senses it’s indignant horror in the Force, and chuckles to himself as it stabilizes in a clumsy arch.

“Come on, come get me.” Anakin mutters, wondering if the dragon can sense those words through the threads of intent that are tying them together.

Perhaps so - the dragon tears after him, wings beating the air so hard Anakin has to adjust for wind. Anakin leads it upwards, circling higher and higher. The dragon loops, sending gobbets of fire after Anakin, who peppers it with rapid blasts. He snakes from side to side, chasing it as it weaves round so they end up circling one another in crazed and dizzying patterns.

Anakin tries not to enjoy himself too much. At any rate, nothing quite compares to the clash of saber on saber. The look the dragon had in its eyes when they’d been moving around each other in that choreographed and violent dance.

Anakin dodges gouts of fire, the clouds around him blazing with sickly colours, while he blasts at wings, belly, side. Open to the Force, he senses the dragon’s movements ahead of time, and they engage in a wordless banter. Anakin feels the dragon’s delight as it performs an elaborate feint, moments from snatching his starfighter with its talons. His own exhilaration echoes back at him as he spins away, swinging round to cover himself as he darts through veils of mist and tries to get a clear shot.

Finally, the ground assault radios in that they’ve been successful in turning the tide of the battle. Fleeing Separatist ships burst through the clouds, and the dragon guards their retreat, as they crawl back behind Separatist lines. Anakin chases them for a time, but before long the fire from both the fleeing dragon and ships gets too heavy and he has to back off.

Their link in the Force, the wire thread that Anakin cannot seem to rid himself of, spools loose. He’d barely noticed it forming. He doesn’t consciously remember making that kind of bond in the first place. It seems ominously stronger for their second encounter.

Anakin is still worrying about that as he sinks his starfighter down into his dense jungle, joining the camp the 104th are carving into the undergrowth. He plans to stay through the night in case this dragon tries one of Ventress’ usual tactics, and attempts to torch them while they rest.

Padawan Tano practically drags him out of the cockpit. Anakin hides his affectionate grin.

“That was amazing, Skyguy!” she crows, grinning widely while she hugs him. “I mean, General Skywalker,”  she amends, as Master Plo joins them. Anakin pats her shoulder, awkwardly meeting Master Plo’s eyes over her montrals. She retreats to a demure distance.

“My thanks, Skywalker,” says Plo, “A well executed relief effort.”

“All in a day’s work,” Anakin grins.

“Nevertheless,” says Plo warmly, with a shallow bow; a gesture which Anakin returns. Plo guides Ahsoka toward Anakin with one long hand on her shoulder, indicating that they should enjoy getting reacquainted, then turns away and begins marshalling his troops to fortify their camp, ready for the 501st to make land.

Anakin likes Ahsoka. They’ve got on well ever since the whole Christophsis mess, and he can’t help but want to look out for her. If he’d been ready for a Padawan he would have taken her on himself. He just needs to prove himself more to the Council first. He doesn’t want someone else to end up like he did - constantly in their Master’s shadow, having to fight for every scrap of grudging respect.

He waits until Plo’s back is turned to pat her on the head.

“Still short,”

“Still rude!” says Ahsoka, batting his arm viciously.

“Still snippy too. Aggression is not the Jedi way - was the battle not enough for you?”

“Enough? Are you kidding? I nearly got fried, like, six times! Did you SEE how big that dragon is?”

He and Ahsoka begin a patrol of the perimeter, depositing sensors just outside the range of the shield generator. As they work, Ahsoka recounts her wins of the campaign in gory detail. She spends a ridiculous amount of time lovingly describing a brilliantly successful charge she lead on a splinter of droid forces that she discovered while patrolling.

“It was going great until _he_ showed up. Dragons, Master Skywalker!” she gestures expansively, and Anakin hides a grin. “It’s not fair! He’s worse than Ventress, and she’s bad enough.”

“Well, Ahsoka, fairness is an illusion, there is only the Force,” Anakin intones, but Ahsoka doesn’t buy his canned wisdom and gives him a sardonic look.

“Come on Master Skywalker -  after we lost Christophsis again! We just had to win here.” She sighs, looking rueful. “If you hadn’t come when you did...”

“But I did. There’s no point dwelling on the possibilities, it didn’t happen, right?” Anakin replies.

“Yes but - if it was anyone but you...”

Anakin flushes, and covers it by jamming a sensor into the dirt. He knows that she admires him, but that’s taking things a little far. “Ahsoka - I’m not the only Jedi, I’m not even the best-”

“Not like that!” she says, wincing and shoving at him, her own sensor forgotten. “I mean - the way you distracted Kenobi...”

“Kenobi? The dragon?” Anakin asks, staring at her. How does she know its name? It sticks in his head somehow. Has he heard it before somewhere?

“Yeah!” says Ahsoka, flushing now. “I... well, I heard the Council telling Master Plo you were on your way so you could draw him out.”

Anakin goes a little cold, not quite sure what she means.

“Draw him out?” he prompts.

“Yeah - I, uh.” She shrinks. Anakin realises he is towering over her, and that his presence in the Force has grown shrouded with his confusion. Remorsefully, he restrains himself and places a hand on her shoulder.

“Ahsoka?”

“I shouldn’t have listened - I know it was a private comm! But… I wanted to know if you were alright, after Christophsis again. I was worried you were there! And I heard Master Windu telling Master Plo that they would send you, so you could draw Kenobi out - that they couldn’t risk it for Christophsis, but Felucia is too important...”

Anakin feels clammy and a little sick. What does she mean? It’s no secret that the dragon was involved in the recent loss of Christophsis. Both Ventress and Anakin’s white dragon were instrumental in the Separatist’s win there.

Do the Council think Kenobi attacked Christophsis to somehow get at Anakin? He and Ahsoka were instrumental in the campaign on Christophsis. Maybe Kenobi was trying to rile him up? And what does that say about his presence here, now? Did the Council send him specifically to deal with the dragon? Why didn’t they tell him?

“I’m sorry, Master Skywalker, I know I shouldn’t have snooped-”

“No, no - I mean - yes, you shouldn’t exactly spy on the Council.” He gives her a gentle glare, his mouth curling with humour. “But, well... I’d have done the same.”

He winks, and she relaxes, shaking his grip off her shoulder and elbowing him in the guts. He doesn’t feel quite as calm as he is trying to make himself appear, but he keeps on joking with her, for her sake.

He lets her entertain him while they finish their tour of the perimeter. Still, he can’t get rid of a creeping sense that something is off. Why did the Council think he’d have more luck than anyone else drawing the dragon out?

He mulls over that question long into the evening, even while Ahsoka chatters to him, Rex and Wolfe.

It bugs him well into the night. He can’t sleep. He keeps playing what Ahsoka said over and over in his mind. Should he have pressed her for more details? He didn’t want to encourage her to blab more about what should have been a confidential briefing. A confidential briefing about him - and apparently, the dragon. Kenobi. Anakin now has a name to match a face.

 _Kenobi_ , he thinks again, then promptly stops when the thought echoes in his mind, flaring along that string of light that has tied him to the dragon since their battle earlier on Ryloth. For one cold, heart stopping moment he waits for a response.

Is Kenobi as aware of their bond as he is? Of course he is - maybe he’s even encouraging it, though Anakin can’t fathom why.

And the name - it seems familiar, as if he has heard it spoken before. Perhaps he has, and he is simply one of the last to know - perhaps the whole Order knows who the dragon is, and why Anakin is so particularly suited to “drawing him out”.

What rankles most, is that Master Plo is in on this too. Anakin has always looked up to Plo Koon. He’s one of the few members of the Council he never felt like he had to convince of anything. He’d always taken Qui-Gon seriously, even in the early days when the Council had been particularly frosty with his Master.

Anakin scrubs a hand over his face.

Qui-Gon’s lessons: Don’t dwell on things. Find something else to do.

Meditation is out. He’d only end up chasing his thoughts again. He’s got nothing to tinker with, so movement it is.

It’s a little late, but he can walk the perimeter, check the sensors.

 

Night on Felucia is a strange experience, particularly after a childhood spent half on a desert planet, and half in the endless city of Coruscant. Granted, Anakin’s later years have seen him touring plenty of different planets, both with his Master and during war. But sometimes a place is just so starkly different, it still manages to amaze him.

Felucia is noisier than he’d expected for a planet without dense population: animal calls, the creaking of huge, succulent trees, water moving between pools and dripping down through the luminescent foliage. Anakin sweats in the humid air, half tempted to strip off his doublet.

He walks the perimeter once, and then again, trying to chase off his racing thoughts. Qui-Gon taught him a way of focusing on the world around him, trying to get out of his own head. He thinks his old Master would approve of his efforts this evening. He examines every leaf and stem, every glowing fungal spray and shifting movement of the canopy. He reaches out to feel each life, and the flow of the Force between the spongy leaves and small jungle animals.

He gets bored with it quickly, but it’s better than dwelling on being angry at the Council, and saying _Kenobi_ , over and over again inside his head, which he can’t seem to stop doing when left to his own devices.

Irritated with the now familiar perimeter, he turns into the jungle and strikes out from the camp. Perhaps he’s scouting, or maybe he’s just curious. He has a morbid desire to see what will happen, if he comes across the dragon in the dark like this. A small droid contingent wouldn’t be too bad either. There’s nothing like a little action to help unstick his head.

It grows darker, as he moves away from the lights of their base. The only natural light comes from the shimmering plant life, and the patchy moonlight forcing it’s way through the clouds.

The last floodlights slip away behind him. Anakin steps into the shadows. Just for a moment, every animal falls silent. The wind stills. There is no sound but the whisper of crunching leaf matter. Out in the jungle, something is moving. His neck prickles.

It’s probably not even Kenobi - which he shouldn’t even be hoping for. What kind of idiot hopes they’ll meet a dragon in the dead of night?

Well, the Council want him to draw the dragon out. Maybe that’s what he’s doing.

Even if it’s more likely a jungle gundark.

Keeping this in mind, Anakin advances cautiously, reaching out with the Force and peering carefully behind the wide leaves and fat stems. Shapes flit between the trees, and once, he’s certain he catches sight of those glowing yellow eyes - though it’s more likely to be some kind of predatory beast.

As he hunts, something inside him tips like a compass, following the wire thread trailing between him and the dragon. He follows it round in loops, getting nowhere. Every time he thinks he’s happened across its source, he loses track.

Eventually he becomes aware of a slightly different noise breaking through the chittering of animals and the whisper of moving leaves. It’s a repetitive whur-clank-thud noise, and a crackle, like sparking electricity.

Anakin blinks out of the haze of his Force touched imagination. What he’d taken for smears of luminous sap is actually the glow from a flickering electric light. He heads towards it, and breaks out of the trees into a wide clearing that stretches across the valley. The scarred, scorched earth is littered with droid parts.

The clanking is coming from underneath a collapsed Ground Assault Tank. There’s a tactical unit, trapped underneath one of the heavy guns. It’s legs are torn away, empty sockets sparking. Its upper half cycles through the same movement -  arm reaches up, with a grinding wheel, then claws out, scrabbles at the dirt. It pushes itself up - and then the hydraulics fail, and the unit collapses back under the weight of the GAT.

A tactical unit is a useful find. They store up all kinds of useful information, and with some luck, the location of the Separatist encampment on Felucia might still be in its memory banks. After a moment’s deliberation, Anakin lights his saber and hacks off the head, being careful not to cut too high and damage the coupling cables. As he bends to pick it up, the feeling of being watched returns.

Anakin tucks the head under his arm, scanning his surroundings. Far across the valley, between two towering trees, he fancies he sees a figure in white.

For a moment, he feels the overpowering urge to stay. He imagines that figure approaching - Kenobi, melting out of the darkness, his eyes bright with that mad glow, getting closer in increments, with every blink, until Anakin can see every hair, trace the movement of the moonlight across his skin-

But no. The figure does not move. Anakin shakes himself.

The light from his saber will have given away his position. He can’t wait around. He sinks back into the black night under the forest canopy, lugging the severed droid head with him.

He returns to base irritable, but tired enough to sleep. A sentry looks up as he enters. Anakin meets the grey stripes of his visor with a nod, too tired for small talk.

He drops the head off at the command tent, where bleary eyed clones are still poking at a holomap of the planet. Then he drags himself off to his bunk, at last relieved to close his eyes.

In his sleep, he dreams of flying. Not closed inside the pod of starfighter, or behind a thick pane of transparisteel, but with wind in his face and the wide, creamy back of a dragon beneath him. They skim over billowing turquoise waves, and Anakin rolls in his sleep, swayed by the movement.


	3. Like a Wave

With both Separatist and Republic forces dug in and recovering from the heavy onslaught of the earlier battle, the campaign quickly devolves into one of guerilla tactics. It turns out that the tactical droid does have some relevant info. A combined team of 104th and 501st slicers managed to get into the unit’s drives and dig out some schematics. The Separatists have a well established base on the continent, less than two hundred kilometers from their own position. They’ve been using it to store fresh droids and supply their armies.

The 104th and 501st combine efforts to disrupt supply routes, and in turn spend a lot of time repelling sneak attacks on their bases and outposts.

Aerial maneuvers quickly prove useless and costly - Kenobi is capable of wiping out any squad he can get close enough to. There are a number of near misses, and it often takes the intervention of a Jedi - usually Anakin - to see him off.

The Council seem content to leave Anakin on Felucia for now - Anakin suspects they want to keep him in proximity to Kenobi. He’s meant to be bait.

And he is in close proximity - he can feel the press of Kenobi’s presence ever more clearly. He is making himself known through the Force. Master Plo and Ahsoka feel it too, though Anakin suspects not as strongly as he.

Even worse, Kenobi’s simple existence continues to corrupt the Force, making clarity difficult, and sensing subtle changes and movements almost impossible. It makes Anakin twitchy and unbalanced. It almost feels like being drunk, with the room spinning and his eyes swimming. Reaching into the Force takes effort, like wading against the currents of a stubborn river. The troops know something is off, and security is tightened - doubled patrols, vigilant watches at all hours.

At night, while Anakin sleeps, that presence surges up against his mind, devious and willful. He pushes back, closing himself off as best he can. Here and there, little prods slip past, leaving him with scattered images of sabers clashing in perfect timing, or the curve of Kenobi’s tail lashing through the clouds. That fascinating, split faced smirk, when Anakin knelt in the dust and spat angry words in his face. They slip into his sleep, chasing off his usual nightmares and replacing them with uncomfortable, occluded dreams.

He, Ahsoka and Plo debate for hours about the best way to really shake the Separatist hold on the planet - they need to overcome the equilibrium, and the troops, now rested, are ready for action.

The problem is simple: The Separatist droids outnumber them significantly. This would not be overwhelming if it weren’t for the presence of the dragon. They can handle one or the other, but not both. They can’t wait for reinforcements - every day they spend waiting, the Separatists grow stronger, and the more likely it becomes that Kenobi will risk upsetting the aerial stalemate.

The solution is obvious, but no one wants to bring it up. Ahsoka is clearly desperate to ask why Anakin can’t just ‘draw out’ Kenobi - but that would mean she’d have to confess to Master Plo about listening in to his conversations. So she contents herself with staring pointedly at Anakin and trying to nudge him under the table. Anakin is feeling contrary - he wants to push Plo or the Council or someone to acknowledge the role that they’ve sent him here to play. But either Plo is too polite to ask, or he’s waiting to see what Anakin will do.

On the third night of this, they get word from one of their outposts of ships coming and going, likely delivering even more droids, and Anakin knows that he can’t afford to be petulant anymore.

Rather than take Gold Squadron on another failed aerial assault, they plan for Anakin to take a small squad of troopers, and run a “covert” mission. Ostensibly, they intend to blow one of the key shield generators around the Separatist complex in preparation for a larger scale ground assault. In actuality, Anakin will be running a loud, flashy mission, designed to catch Kenobi's attention.

Anakin suggests to Plo that Kenobi may have some kind of personal vendetta against him. Anakin has been trouncing him in the air, after all. Plo frowns, cupping his mask with one of his long hands. He nods in agreement.

“Perhaps, that is possible.” He says.

Ahsoka nods. Everyone at the table knows that Anakin was sent here well before Kenobi had any reason to take an interest in him. And no one will tell him why. At least Plo has the conscience to seem conflicted about it.

Anakin figures he’ll need to do some digging once he’s back on Coruscant. Perhaps he can dig through Qui-Gon’s old notes, and see if there’s anything relevant in them.

If he ever gets back to Coruscant.

Privately, Anakin thinks his ploy is ridiculously transparent. Kenobi’s got to know that it would be more sensible for them to reserve Anakin for air cover. Master Plo, ever an accomplished pilot, will be fulfilling that role, with Ahsoka stepping up to organise a ground assault.

Somehow, Anakin feels like the transparency is exactly what will draw the dragon out - Anakin is putting himself in a difficult situation for the sake of his men, and for Ahsoka and Plo. He will tempt Kenobi into action.

The more he thinks on it, the more he begins to remember the old stories that Qui-Gon had told him, in the days when they spent most of their missions on archeological sites, digging into the ancient history of the Force. Anakin remembers snippets of information - the greed of a dragon, and how cultures and communities sought to sate it.

Anakin meditates on his plan, and he sees it clearly. In his mind, forms a blurry shape of some ancient ritual, a question and an answer which he doesn’t yet fully understand. An exchange, a gift that Kenobi won’t be able to resist.

The thought makes him breathless. Anticipation seeps out of him down that golden thread towards Kenobi. He feels the dragon’s attention shift languorously towards him, curious and hungry. It gives him the same, heady rush that he’d felt when Kenobi had him at saber points, beat him into the dirt and said: Give me more.

At dusk, Anakin takes a small group of men with him, and makes it clear: Any sign of the dragon, and they should leave. Gold Squadron are on standby to help extract him. Plo and Ahsoka will launch an attack on the Separatist base the moment Anakin gives the signal.

When Anakin sets off, loaded into as stealthy a shuttle as they can manage for the 200 kilometer journey south, the pale Felucia sky is turning a lurid orange, bruised and darkening on one distant horizon. The wispy evening clouds take on a turquoise, violet hue that pulls at Anakin’s memory. Has he dreamed something like that before? It doesn’t matter.

He takes Rex, Rattle and Wipeout with him. Wipeout has a fondness for explosions and volunteered enthusiastically. Both Rattle and Rex were with Anakin on Ryloth. They know what facing Kenobi in battle might mean. Before they set off, he makes it explicitly clear: On no circumstances should they engage Kenobi. At any sign of the dragon’s presence, they should alert Anakin, and make their way back to the shuttle and either prepare to extract Anakin, or rejoin the main force as necessary.

Rex seems uncomfortable with the idea, though he doesn’t come out and say exactly why. Rex is a proud guy, and protective, so Anakin guesses he doesn’t want to leave Anakin out in the field. He expresses his discomfort in short, terse sentences, and by demanding that he come along to “Watch Anakin’s Back.”

Anakin wishes he could explain why he doesn’t think that’s necessary. Every part of him is sure that Kenobi will play his part in an unspoken bargain. No matter how stupid it seems, Anakin keeps returning to three things: Kenobi’s mad delight on Ryloth, his rumoured, fruitless pursual of Anakin at Christophsis, and his immediate reaction on realising it was Anakin baiting him in the air. Kenobi will want to face him in battle again. Anakin just knows it.

It’s an entrancing thought. Anakin refuses to think about why, or expand any further on that. He’s doing this because the Council need him to. Because Plo and Ahsoka need him to. No matter how cold it makes Anakin feel, to know he’s putting himself on the line without ever being told what’s going on, he knows it’s his duty, as a Jedi.

Anakin pushes through his pensive mood to focus on the mission at hand. They’re meant to make at least some attempt at their cover mission, and who is he to deprive Wipeout of a few fireworks?

They land the shuttle - without crashing it, Anakin notes, no matter what Rex might say - and do their best to conceal it in the brush. The clones mark the coordinates in their HUDs. Then, they creep off under cover of darkness to begin their ostensible mission.

Between the four of them, they tackle the shield generator no problem. There are sentry droids to deal with, of course, and a bunch of other complications. A pair of droidekas provide a frustrating barrier, but Anakin is nothing if not persistent. Wipeout (and the rest of them) watch the generator go up in flames with no small amount of glee.

But that doesn’t change the fact that there’s been no sign of Kenobi. Anakin expected to see him swooping through the air by now, ready to either crisp them to cinders or find some other, more humiliating way of making Anakin pay. Instead, the jungle is quiet. Anakin checks the Force. Kenobi’s ever present, consuming aura is close by, in a nebulous sense - but that doesn’t really make it any clearer if Anakin’s plan will work or not. Kenobi has felt “close by” the entire time he’s been on Felucia.

Cautiously, Anakin probes the golden thread between he and Kenobi. He sees nothing through it except more of that hunger.

Is Kenobi not paying attention to them? Has Anakin miscalculated? Maybe he wants to get Anakin on his own? It’s a risk, but perhaps that’s what Anakin needs to do. He’s playing bait - he just needs to weight the trap.

He stops short. The men, who have been moving in formation around him, follow his lead.

“General?” asks Rex.

Anakin sighs, and makes his decision. “Alright, I think we need to fan out. You know the drill - any sign of the dragon, and you should let me know, and alert command. We’ll check in at one minute intervals.”

“Sir,” Rex affirms. It sounds disapproving.

“We’re here to get a job done. We need to draw the dragon out. If an attack on the shield generator didn’t do it - well. I need to make a better target.”

“Yes, Sir” Rex agrees. “We’ll be ready with extraction as soon as it’s needed,” he adds. Anakin senses an additional _“So don’t do anything too stupid before one of us gets back to the shuttle.”_

Wipeout and Rattle disappear into the foliage to Anakin’s left and right. Rex trails behind, at Anakin's six.

They check in over the radio at regular intervals, until it becomes a familiar, soothing rhythm, counting out the time - ten, eleven, twelve minutes. Anakin passes through a clearing. Feeling exposed, he checks the sky for any sign of the dragon. The night has come on thick and dark, and all he can see is stars. He continues on.

Thirteen, fourteen minutes, and Wipeout misses check in.

“Wipeout?” Anakin prompts. The radio is silent. Foreboding makes a hollow pit in Anakin’s stomach.

There is a harsh, confused burst of static over the comm.

Then, Rex shouts a word that both crackles over the radio and echoes from approximately one hundred feet to Anakin’s rear left:

“Dragon!”

Anakin doesn’t wait. _Curse_ Kenobi - he was meant to come for Anakin, not his men! Anakin sprints back towards Rex, crashing through the dark and the foliage, smearing phosphorescent sap across his robes in his haste.

He bursts into the small, sparsely illuminated clearing he’d passed through only minutes ago, and immediately finds signs of the fight. A blaster bolt has blown away several thick limbs from one of the trees, and the red dirt is scuffed with boot marks. One of Rex’s DC-17s lies discarded at the edge of the tree line.

Anakin grips it tightly for a moment, then tucks it into his belt. Belatedly, he opens his comm, slamming in the codes that will signal to Ahsoka and Plo that he has Kenobi’s attention.

Great job, idiot. You drew out the dragon. What now?

There’s no sign of Rex, or Kenobi. Anakin tries to raise Wipeout and Rattle on the comm, but all he gets is static.

His heart is pounding, adrenaline coaxing him towards anger and fear. The same thought keeps whirling round his head - those are his men, and he’s lead them out here on this ill conceived mission on nothing but a gut feeling, and the notion that Kenobi would somehow play fair. He paces the border of the clearing, trying to see some sign of where Rex might have gone.

Qui-Gon’s lessons: Calm your body, and you will calm your mind. He breathes deeply, until clarity returns. With his body settled, and his mind verging on light meditation, the worrying thoughts flickering across his mind settle. Anakin reaches into the Force, trying to pin down the dragon’s location. The Force, as always in Kenobi’s presence, bucks out of his grasp. Good, that means he’s close by.

Somewhere, caught in the whirling, fuliginous Force, is that thin strand of light that connects him to Kenobi. Anakin yanks it vindictively, seeking its source. It responds, both soft and pliable, and overly familiar. It’s both something and nothing like a training bond. For a moment, he’s assaulted with a sensation of the bond reaching intimately deep within him, and with it the glow of both possession and security. Anakin recoils, disgusted by his own reaction.

It’s one of the only tools he has to find Kenobi.

He reaches for it again, stiffly ignoring the way it buzzes and thrums in reaction.

As he had the night he walked the perimeter, Anakin follows its pull. This time, he makes no effort to be wary. He openly seeks out Kenobi, shoves aside plant fronds, and stamens, and cascades of vines without care for the damage he’s causing. Qui-Gon would scold him for his lack of care, perhaps, but every time he slows down, the harrying thoughts he tried to chase away before return.

What if he judged incorrectly? What if Kenobi has killed his men, then departed to terrorise Plo and Ahsoka? In the distance, he can hear the hum and screech of an air battle, as well as blaster fire and the thudding movement of ground troops. But the forest canopy is too thick to see what’s going on.

He growls, clawing his hands through his hair. He has to make sure the dragon keeps his eyes on him.

“Kenobi!” he shouts into the night, desperate and not even hoping that Kenobi will heed his summons.

“Anakin,” Kenobi replies, conversationally and softly, somewhere to Anakin’s left. His voice is as rich and clear as Anakin remembers.

Anakin roars and whirls round, saber lit. Kenobi is close by but out of sight.

“Where are you?”

“Surely I am behind the tree to your left, as I have been every time you’ve hacked one down in the last ten minutes.”

Anakin dives left, saber first, carving a burning swathe through the tree and splattering himself with sap. The tree groans then tumbles into its neighbour. Kenobi is nowhere to be seen.

“That poor tree. Did it really deserve such violence?”

Anakin whirls round, eyes darting through the shadows.

“Come out and face me.”

“The Force will guide you,” says Kenobi. Somehow he manages to hit just the right cadence to sound like Qui-Gon, and Anakin nearly explodes with rage. He lashes out with the Force, heedless of its murky turbulence, trying to get a grip of the dragon.

“Anakin,” Kenobi scolds, rolling Anakin’s name around his tongue like a piece of candy.

Anakin swipes with his saber again, and another tree collapses. Kenobi laughs.

“Anakin,” he says reproachfully, dwelling over each syllable until Anakin can’t bear to hear the dragon say his name again. “Do be mindful of the scenery.”

“What did you do with my _men_?” Anakin roars, every lesson forgotten as his fear and panic bubble over. “Where are they?” His voice tears painfully.

As Anakin sweeps his saber through another thick trunk of a tree, a hand closes around his wrist.

“Anakin,” the dragon says, using Anakin’s name, once again, like a taunt. “There really is no need for this arboreal onslaught.”

Anakin yanks his wrist back. He snatches at Kenobi with the Force, curling invisible fingers around the dragon’s trachea. His heart thumps. Kenobi is here - he’s not torturing Anakin’s men or burning Ahsoka to cinders. Anakin sucks in several deep, steadying breaths.

“Where are my men?” he grits out, this time managing not to shout. His fingers spasm, and Kenobi purples.

Kenobi chokes out a laugh. Anakin loosens his grip, then drops him entirely as he shoves his rage back under wraps, ashamed at his lack of self control.

“They fought bravely,” Kenobi replies, massaging his throat and smirking broadly.

“That’s not an answer.” Anakin’s gloves creek where they are gripping his saber. This line of questioning is getting him nowhere. Exchange, Anakin thinks, and steels himself. “Fine. What do you want from me?”

Kenobi stares at him, looking blindsided, like wanting something from Anakin hadn’t occurred to him until this point. Then he shrugs, smirking.

“Hmm. Perhaps I want to capture you, interrogate you… maybe hold you to ransom? Do you think the Order will pay much for you? The Hutt clans have been very keen to-”

Something cold shoots down Anakin’s spine. He lunges for Kenobi, so desperate for him to shut up that he half forgets his saber and ends up catching the dragon’s cheekbone with the hilt.

The dragon staggers backwards, and for a moment Anakin thinks he catches a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. Then his lips curl in that familiar, captivatingly split way, delighted he has found yet another chink in Anakin’s armour - a hot button to push.

“Now really-” Kenobi starts.

Anakin lunges again, not wanting to give him an opportunity to speak - particularly if it involves the Council, and what they might think Anakin is worth, or the Hutts, and what Anakin might be worth to _them_.

This time he remembers to use his saber properly.

“Better,” is the unlooked for response. “Don’t you think throwing punches is a little uncivilised?”

They trade a quick flurry of blows, Anakin lancing at Kenobi wildly, too angry to think his movements through. Kenobi’s unfaltering Soresu guard keeps him at bay, and he advances on Anakin like a wall, backing him into the clearing where he’d fought Rex.

Rex. Anakin’s stomach churns.

“Where is he?” Anakin pants, allowing Kenobi to drive him further back. “Where are my men?”

Kenobi pauses on the edge of the clearing, sighing as Anakin continues to back away.

“What does it matter, Anakin?”

Anakin swallows. _Exchange_. He has to make Kenobi understand. He sets his pride aside. Kenobi can have it, for all he cares. He sets aside his anger too, and that feels like wrenching a piece of himself away. It flows down that tiny gossamer wire to Kenobi, who’s brow furrows.

With momentous mental effort, Anakin powers down his saber.

“Please,” he says, supplicating. His voice shakes with the effort of speaking calmly. His throat is raw from the shouting. “What did you do to them?”

Kenobi pauses, eyeing Anakin curiously. Slowly, he seems to process that Anakin is changing the tone of their encounter. He powers down his own saber, drifting closer. As he steps into the moonlight, Anakin gets a better look at him. His yellow eyes are huge, pupils blown. The Force thrashes around him, expectant and aroused, even while the man himself is stiff and still.

“Oh,” he says at last. His chest tremors with a rapturous, shaky breath “I see.”

The wire - the bond, Anakin forces himself to admit - shifts again. Something intoxicating slips through it, washing over Anakin in a way that makes his breath catch. He hears Kenobi before he speaks, his thoughts echoing between them -  _Yes, this is right, give me more._

“Show me,” Kenobi murmurs. “Show me what you would give me.”

So this is it. His pride, his compliance, the last of his rage - he could give Kenobi those things, and it might buy him the safety of his men. It would be such a small sacrifice. Hard for him, though, for Anakin is a prideful and rebellious creature. For a moment he sways, caught in the decision - to give in to his ego and anger, or to let it go.

It would be worth it, to protect his troops, who he dragged into this knowing full well how dangerous Kenobi is. Sickeningly, a part of him really wants to. His palms sweat at the thought of it, his mouth dry. Worse, some horrible, expectant kind of pleasure curls in his stomach like a hot noose. It would feel good, he thinks, to just let go for once. To not have to feel so angry and afraid.

Kenobi must sense this from him. He glides through the clearing towards Anakin like a predator scenting out blood. He is haloed in the strange forest light, pale and eerie. He is majestic. Anakin sees him twofold - a man made from neat lines, soft hair, and sharp smiles, and the dragon - massive and beautiful. Something worth making a sacrifice to. Something that could hold on to what he would be willing to give.

Anakin drops to his knees, half retching with shame. His fingers curl into the red dirt.

Kenobi stops in front of him. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches down to cup Anakin’s face, his thumb slotting in behind the hinge of his jaw. He looks entranced. His hand is warm. The calloused pads of his fingertips chafe, and he is shaking very slightly.

They stare at one another. Anakin’s thoughts go clear and light. Magically, the awful, heavy pall of shame lifts. It slips away down the bond, along with other things: The heavy anxiety of whatever it is the Council won’t tell him. Grief. Tiredness.

“Please,” he says again, and it comes easy this time.

“Yes,” says Kenobi. He breathes out slowly, returning to himself in measures as he absorbs Anakin’s steady gaze.

After a long moment, he snatches his hand away, turning his back and retreating swiftly. The moment shattered, Anakin heaves himself to his feet.

Kenobi turns back to him, and that half-mad grin is back on his face. “Again,” he says, roughly. He draws his saber, settling into a guard position. “Give me this.”

Anakin nods, lighting his saber. Next to the heavy wash of emotion he just released, a physical confrontation feels like nothing more than a formality.

Anakin feels steadied this time. His anger has dissipated, and the agony of his shame dissolved swiftly under Kenobi’s hand. There is only the fight in front of him, and the safety of his men.

Anakin is fortunate. He learned a lot of Kenobi’s tricks in their last battle, and he’s been practicing for their next encounter.

He rations his knowledge carefully, waiting for a good opportunity to get one over on his opponent. Kenobi fights back hard, moving from his earlier toying movements, toward heavy, fluid strikes and aggressive maneuvers - bastardised Ataru. As they fight, Anakin listens to the growing sound of the battle, hoping that Plo’s offensive is working.

At last, Anakin sees his chance to strike. He finds the space in Kenobi’s guard he needs to thrust a skewering blow right at his chest. The dragon jerks sideways just in time, and Anakin’s saber slices through his left pauldron instead.

The dragon lurches back, grasping at the wound and gaping at him angrily. Anakin has a moment to feel ashamed for aiming a killing blow - he shouldn’t, Kenobi is a dangerous and very real enemy. Seconds later, Anakin is flying backwards, a huge gout of coppery flames exploding around him. He knocks his head on something, whiting with pain and ears ringing.

The flames disperse before they can cause Anakin much damage, though they leave the trees smouldering, and the ground blackened. He coughs up hot air, blinking away stars.

Vision swimming, he’s sure he sees the dragon approaching. Kenobi’s hand stretching out as if to help him up. But the roaring in his ears isn’t just from the concussion - bright floodlights rake the clearing.

In the flickering light, Kenobi’s eyes sparkle, though his mouth is a hard, disappointed line.

“Your men,” he says, and bows with a flourish.

A moment later, he takes to the sky, and Anakin is flattened with awe by the sight of his huge, creamy underbelly and the pounding sweep of his wings. Anakin stares after him, yelling wordlessly. All that for nothing - his men were perfectly safe.

Irrationally, he’s certain that Kenobi is laughing, if dragons can even laugh.

Rex, Wipeout and Rattle bundle Anakin into the shuttle. Anakin only has half his attention to spare for them. Kenobi is swooping low over the flaming remains of the Separatist base. Gazing down at the dragon’s wide, pearlescent wings Anakin is once again reminded vaguely of his dreams.


	4. Kill The Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited as of 04/12

Kenobi's brutality is legendary among the troops, rumour spreading throughout the ranks like wildfire following the GAR loss on Christophsis. There's a certain amount of awe surrounding the dragon, so Rattle and Wipeout get plenty of mileage out of the story of their daring rescue, which becomes more and more embellished every time Anakin hears it.

Anakin is fairly sure he'll never hear what truly happened, no matter how much he presses them for it. Rattle and Wipeout tell him a tale about extricating a hapless Rex from Kenobi's clutches. Rex is gruff, and more than a little shamefaced, but collaborates their version of events - at least, before the tale telling gets out of hand. But Anakin is certain the three clones co-ordinated some kind of attempt to keep the dragon away from him that went wrong. Either way, it’s only a few days before Anakin starts hearing tales of a dragon, fully transformed, engaging the clones in a daring chase through the jungles of Felucia.

Anakin lets them enjoy the heat of the interest. News of his third tangle with Kenobi is being remarked upon with vigour, and he's all too happy not to discuss what happened with anyone. Every time someone well meaning congratulates him, he's reminded that had his men arrived just minutes sooner, they would have found him on his knees, Kenobi’s hand settled on his face like a caress. 

That image, and the feeling of untethered lightness that went with it, are scorched into his brain. There must be something wrong with him. What possessed him to allow that?

Any questions he wanted to ask Master Plo have been chased away by his own shame. For all he knows, the Council knew exactly what he’d do. Plo is probably being kind, not bringing it up.

Under the cover of a lesson in form four, Ahsoka prods Anakin details. She quizzes him on what Kenobi was like, how it was to fight him. What it looked like when he transformed. 

Anakin tells her about their duel, in scant details. He leaves out his frantic search and the teasing, but he shares a warning with her about Kenobi’s characteristic Force presence.

“He’s like a black hole, bending gravity,” Anakin explains, as Ahsoka moves slowly through the kata, practicing the precise movements she will need if she’s going to use the aggressive form safely.

“He bends the Force?” Oh! I _knew_ I felt something, the day he came after our canons. What is it like, close up?” Her brow curls, and her arm shifts slightly out of alignment. Anakin adjusts it, and she glares at him, resuming the correct position without further prompting.

“If you don’t want me correcting you, watch your stance,” Anakin grins. Ahsoka grunts, still waiting for an answer. “The Force flows towards him and gets all twisted up. It’s not like with your average darksider - it’s hard to explain.”

“How do you fight him, if you can’t use the Force?” Ahsoka asks. She shifts her stance, this time flowing smoothly.

“Good - you can use the Force, but it’s harder. It’s tricky. You have to concentrate, but you can move against the flow if you need to.”

“What would happen if you didn’t? If you got sucked in?” Ahsoka asks.

“I- I don’t really know. But it’s probably not a good idea. In all the old stories, dragons can consume people,” Anakin explains. It must be something like that flowing line of energy between he and Kenobi - stretched distant now, thin like a silk thread. The way he’d let some part of himself slip away down it, coiling inexorably into the hungry heart of a dragon.

He doesn’t really want to think about it.

Taking a leaf from his Master’s book, he drills Ahsoka harder and faster, so she can spare no energy for coming up with questions, and no breath to speak.

He sends her slinking back to her tent in a sweaty ball of agony, with an improved understanding of the fourth form.  

“Never let him teach me again,” she mutters to Plo, as she passes.

“I hope I’m not too much for your Padawan,” Anakin grins, following Ahsoka towards her Master.

“In truth, I sometimes I fear that my Padawan is too much for me,” Plo replies, handing Anakin a canteen of water.

“That sounds familiar. My Master said the same thing about me nearly every day.”  

Anakin flushes, waiting for the usual uncomfortable silence that seems to follow Qui-Gon’s memory these days. But Plo doesn’t seem interested in that kind of awkwardness. He simply nods, an air of amusement settling on his shoulders.

“Energy breeds energy. The wisest Master and greenest Knight can gain much from the right pupil.”

Anakin stares down at the canteen. “You make a good teacher for her, Master Plo.” He still regrets passing over Ahsoka, but he knows without a doubt that his words are true. And besides, Ahsoka can do without the weight of Anakin’s legacy weighing her down.

Plo’s brows furrow, and Anakin wonders if Plo has sensed his thoughts.

“Do not be ashamed of your old Master. Qui-Gon Jinn was a wise and brilliant Jedi. He was a credit to the Order, and his skill and compassion are not forgotten.”

Anakin’s jaw clenches. He takes a gulp of water to cover it. “I’m not ashamed of him. He was a good teacher. He was-” Anakin trails off, biting back his outburst. Qui-Gon was a lot of things. They’d grown so close. By Geonosis, they worked like a well oiled machine. Anakin trusted Qui-Gon more than any other person - except perhaps his mother, who Anakin was sure had only lived thanks to his Master’s guidance and support.

Plo nods, and Anakin sees that he’s weighing his words. “At the battle of Christophsis, you told me that you did not feel ready to take on a Padawan. I saw the wisdom in your hesitance. Yet I also saw something else.”

Anakin turns away, animated by a burst of frustration. “I didn’t feel like I was trusted enough. I didn’t want to put Ahsoka in that position.”

Plo hums. “Yet the Council felt that you were ready.”

How can Plo say that? The Council won’t even tell him the real reason he's on Felucia. He only found out Kenobi's name through Ahsoka's snooping. Even that barest scrap of information is hard won.

There's a time and a place for his frustrations, though. Plo is on the Council and Anakin knows better than to stir trouble with a superior.

"I understand, Master. I might regret not taking her on, but all is as the Force wills it,” Anakin sighs. The platitude always seems a little hollow to him.

He can see that Plo senses his frustration. He must be able to guess why. The Kel Dor Master exhales, his breath hissing through his mask. "Indeed, you are correct. And in truth, I would not change things. I would be sorry to lose her apprenticeship."

Anakin grins, seeing the admission for what it is - Master Plo, confessing the fault of attachment. None of them are perfect, even the Council.

Anakin bows, and goes to see if Rex has any messages from the Resolute.

\--

Losing their key foothold pushes the Seps into furious defensive maneuvers. The droid army strike once more in a decisive rebound, pushing them 80 kilometers northward. Kenobi is suspiciously absent, and his presence seems distant now. Their mysterious bond, which seems permanently latched to Anakin since their first battle on Ryloth, has spooled out once more.

They spend a frustrating month retaking the lost ground. From there, things seem to go easier. Plo and Ahsoka have a good handle on the ground, and Plo is more than capable of running air support when needed, so Anakin returns to the Resolute, which is providing the main force blockading the planet.

Finally free from the forced closeness of their encampment, Anakin finds it a little easier to evade the gossip. He splits his time between the bridge and his cabin. On the bridge, he can stare out into the stars, focused entirely on guiding the ship as they ward off patrols, supply drops, and the occasional opportunistic attack. In his bunk, no one will bother him unless it's necessary.

On the bridge once again, Anakin stares out into the black, arms folded around himself against the chill of space. Eyes fixed on the distant, glimmering med station, Anakin only notices the communications officer trying to get his attention on the second, or maybe third attempt.

"General? General Skywalker...?"

"What is it, Officer?" he asks, somewhat stiffly.

"Begging pardon sir - there's an urgent transmission coming in from Coruscant. I'll patch it through to room Oh Five."

“Thank you Officer.” Anakin nods crisply, wondering what it could be.

Likely the Council with new orders. There's been no sign of Kenobi on the surface of Felucia for well over two months, and Anakin has a sinking suspicion that if Kenobi's been spotted elsewhere, Anakin will be transferred there. He seems to be the best at dealing with dragons, even if no one else knows why.

Anakin slips inside the private briefing room, composing himself and releasing the chronic shame he's felt since the mission to destroy the shield generator.

With a glance from Anakin, the comms officer flicks a switch. The holoprojector lights up, and there is Master Windu and Master Yoda. Plo patches in a few moments later from the surface, looking mud spattered and tired, as much as Anakin can tell. They each exchange staticky bows. Windu and Yoda look especially solemn.

"The campaign on Felucia is finding success?" Windu prompts.

Plo nods. "With Skywalker's support we've successfully turned the tide. We’ve gained back most of the eastern continent and are preparing to head westward.”

“Good news, this is. Needed, it is, after much hardship.”

“The blockade above Felucia is working well,” Anakin continues. “We have The Resolute, as well as three light cruisers in orbit. It’s proving an effective deterrent for the time being, but we could use support soon, before they start pouring in reinforcements.”

“Understood. Aayla Secura, and the 327th will relieve you.”

“Relieve me?” Anakin asks, startled and affronted. If Plo wants Anakin to believe the Council think he’s ready for a Padawan, the Council need to stop pulling him out of situations he’s got a good handle of.

“Yes. We need you here on Coruscant immediately.”

“Required, your expertise is. Briefed, you must be.”

Anakin wants to tell them that he’s needed here. He knows that Aayla will be a more than adequate replacement. Still, despite - or perhaps because of - Yoda’s cryptic words, Anakin is sure this is something to do with Kenobi.

“Yes, Masters. I’ll prepare to return immediately.”

“Your presence only, is required. Support Master Secura, the 501st will.”

Anakin grits his teeth. “I understand.”

“You’ve done good work,” says Mace, maybe realising that asking Anakin to leave his fleet behind is adding insult to injury. “But this takes precedent, and we can’t risk losing the progress we’ve made. The 501st’s support will be key to ensuring that.”

“Then I’ll make sure they’re fully briefed. We’ll give Master Secura our full support,” Anakin confirms, even though what he really wants to do is slam the holo off and scream obscenities into the stars.

“Thank you, General. We look forward to seeing you back on Coruscant.”

Anakin exchanges the relevant niceties, but closes the call with a creeping fear.

Neither Master Windu or Master Yoda gave any sign that the Council have found out what he did. Surely that’s not the case, but Anakin can’t seem to stop thinking about it. What if they found out, and that’s why they’re pulling him out of the field? What if they know that he kneeled?

\--

Felucia was it's own special kind of torment: Muddy, sticky and damp. Anakin's pretty sure he’s had at least six different fungal infections. Getting his feet back on dry ground is its own reward to say the least. So he’s glad to get back to The Resolute, and gladder still to jump into hyperspace. Anakin is looking forward to familiar sights - to home. But as they near the planet, he senses the seemingly ever present pall of darkness and desperation hanging over Coruscant - he almost wishes he were back in the jungle.

Still, walking into the familiar halls of the temple is a comfort. He drifts through the long, sunlit corridors, and in the golden light he can half imagine he is trailing after his old Master. He can picture it easily, for it’s happened a hundred times or more. Anakin would be anxious about a briefing, dreading the Council’s scrutiny. His Master would be unconcerned, teasing Anakin for his worrying. His long hair would be swaying in time with his broad steps, Anakin trotting to keep up.

Unbidden, the half conjured vision of his Master stops in front of one of the wide, pillared windows. He is haloed in the coppery light, translucent and fiery. He catches Anakin’s eye, smiling in that way of his.

Anakin blinks. He’s drifting, seeing things that aren’t there. A painful lump swells, then deflates in his chest. The world is strange, a little out of step with his body. He turns from the window, the corners of his mouth turned down, trying to shake off the nostalgia, or at least ignore it until it goes away. He quickens his steps, rounding the corner without looking back.

He's expected at the briefing within the hour. He doesn’t have time for ghosts. He only stops by his rooms for long enough to wash and change. Out of his armour and into his tunics and tabards, he feels lighter, but more vulnerable. He feels like he’s peeled off a layer of old skin, revealing the sensitive new growth beneath. He clips his saber to his side, comforted by its weight.

The briefing is already in session when Anakin arrives at the waiting room. The doors to the main room are closed, but he can sense the presences within. He’s not late. That means the Council representatives have been discussing things without his presence.

The waiting room itself is dark and peaceful, laid out like many of the meditation rooms throughout the temple. To Anakin’s surprise, there is someone else waiting. A senior Weequay Padawan sits in the shadows, on one of the broad, round meditation seats. She can’t be younger than Anakin, and he fancies she may actually have a few years on him. She stands and bows stiffly when he enters. Anakin returns her bow respectfully, a little lost for words.

Returning to her seat, she clutches at the thick Padawan braid woven through her coarse hair, and stares blankly into the middle distance. Anakin can feel her in the Force, grief seeping through the cracks in her hard won facade of calm.

A sickly, apprehensive feeling slides down his spine. He thought he’d be the only attendee. Is it not just the Council who’ll hear his sins? Is every Padawan in the temple going to know about what happened on Felucia before the day is out?

“What are you doing here?” he asks, a little harshly.

The Weequay blinks up at him, and allows her braid to slip out of her grasp. It hangs limply over her shoulder.

“Waiting for the briefing.” Her voice is devoid of inflection, rough, with a crisp Coruscanti accent. “You’re Knight Skywalker, are you not?”

“Yeah, I am.” Anakin sighs. “I mean, obviously you’re here for the briefing. Who are you?” Her eyebrows quirk up, the corners of her lips tilting down. “

“Giana Mei-Sun - I am - I was - Master Daahn’s Padawan.” Anakin takes in her braid, and her vacant eyes, and her distant, bleak Force presence. Cringing, Anakin realises it’s a feeling he’s intimately familiar with - the loss of a Master. There isn’t much he remembers from the days following Geonosis, everything around him swallowed by Qui-Gon’s gaping absence. Padawan Mei-Sun has that same look about her.

He sighs remorsefully, and takes a seat on one of the couches opposite her.

“Master Daahn?” he asks, a little gentler now. Anakin doesn’t recognise the name, but then, there are many Jedi he doesn’t know personally.

Giana nods, her leathery face creasing as she opens her mouth to tell him more. Before she can, the doors slide open. Master Fisto enters the waiting room. Giana gathers herself to her feet in time to exchange bows. Anakin follows her. Master Fisto’s kind face seems tired and worn. He returns Anakin’s bow with his usual friendly grace, then turns back to Giana, resting one hand on her shoulder.

Master Fisto faced the recent loss of his old Padawan with equanimity that Anakin finds unfathomable, but the kindly Nautolan is not devoid of empathy.

Watching him speak quietly with Giana, Anakin realises that Master Fisto’s long right tentacle is bandaged. It’s now several inches shorter than the one on his left shoulder. It hangs down to his chest, where the other reaches his waist. The Force provides Anakin with the vivid image of a bright red saber shearing through it.

Master Fisto catches Anakin’s look and grins. “Something to remember Christophsis by. I’m told it looks roguish,”

“It does,” Anakin replies, grinning despite himself. “But it’s a harsh price to pay for the look.”

Master Fisto’s eyes crinkle with humour. “Perhaps. But as Master Yoda would remind us - it is but flesh.”

“Was it-” Giana waves a hand at her eyes. Gold eyes, Anakin thinks. Dragon.

“It was,” Kit replies to the unfinished question. “They will be ready for us soon. Are you prepared, Giana Mei-Sun?”

“Yes.” She draws a deep breath.

Giana may be ready, but Anakin isn’t sure _he_ is. Surreptitiously, he checks the line that connects he and Kenobi. It seems thin now, seemingly changing with proximity. He brushes his mind across it, just to see how it feels. There is an answering, distant resonance, and he pulls back swiftly.

He has to focus on the moment. He has to be ready for whatever questions the Council may ask him. Now isn’t the time for contemplating his own mistakes. He certainly shouldn’t be entertaining making more.

Anakin wonders if Giana has ever attended a briefing like this on her own. He drags a smile onto his face for her. “Come on then. Let’s not keep Master Yoda waiting, or he’ll fall asleep.”

Master Fisto shoots him a look - not exactly scolding, just the voiceless declaration that he heard that, and has an opinion on it.

Giana looks flatly at him, unimpressed, like she can’t quite believe he’d talk so disrespectfully. She might be disapproving, but it’s a change for the better from her blank, dead eyed stare when he came into the room. The corners of Anakin’s lips tilt up, genuine warmth leaking into his painful smile. Giana’s eyes glint with a shade of something like answering humour. Following Kit, they make their way into the briefing.

Master Yoda and Master Windu are present in person. Anakin is surprised to see Quinlan Vos comming in from Ryloth, and Master Plo from Felucia. Anakin fancies that Ahsoka is close by him, seeking out the latest gossip. The rest of the Council are absent, perhaps in deference to Giana, who seems too worn for a full hearing.

The group is arranged around a holoprojector. Anakin bows in greeting, then takes a vacant seat. Giana joins him, with a  glance to check his reaction. Still a Padawan following someone else’s lead, no matter her age or seniority.

A calm silence settles around the table, then Master Windu begins.

“Four days ago, a Republic relief and supply convoy bound for Rhodia was pulled out of hyperspace. The Bastion, a cruiser under the command of Captain Marsh of the 468th regiment and Master Li-Sha Daahn, providing armed support for the convoy, was boarded by a Separatist company commanded by Obi-Wan Kenobi-”

Anakin starts at the name. _Obi-Wan_. Is it familiar? Where has he heard it before?

“-who lead an assault to capture the ship, and successfully destroy the convoy within sight of the Rhodian system. The lives of several hundred clone troopers were lost during the assault, during which Master Daahn was slain. The relief effort on Rhodia is politcally sensitive. In light of the severity of this attack, and particularly its proximity to a system under republic protection, the Jedi order has been instructed by the Senate to capture or kill the Sith Dragon Obi-Wan Kenobi as swiftly as possible.”

A lump of pure horror swells in Anakin’s stomach, which he shoves away firmly. He’s not concerned for Kenobi’s health, he really isn’t. It’s just horrifying to think that his failure to completely deal with Kenobi on Felucia has resulted in so much destruction and suffering.

Master Vos sighs heavily. “If you can spare me from Ryloth and I’ll bring him in.”

Master Windu nods “The Council is seeking to relieve you as soon as possible. Though the we believe he may be past the point of a peaceful recovery, Vos.”

Vos grimaces, nodding. “You saw what I saw on Ryloth. But I still can’t believe it.”

Believe what, Anakin wonders. He glances from face to face. Everyone here seems to know something he doesn’t, except for Giana, who looks just as lost as he is.

Master Yoda’s ears prick up, possibly sensing Anakin’s curiosity.

“Changed, Kenobi is. But for later, that discussion should be. If ready, you are, Padawan Mei-Sun, your story you must tell.”

Giana nods firmly. She breathes in a deep, meditative breath. With a look around the room, she straightens her back, her mouth setting into a hard line.

“Yes Master. I am ready. As Master Windu said, they waited until we got mostly all the way to Rhodia. They dragged us out of hyperspace with the planet in sight. It was there, in the distance, the size of a coin. We saw the frigates drop out of hyperspace just minutes ahead of us. We radioed the convoy for support, and most of our fighters were launched - it was standard. We thought we were prepared. Then _he_ came aboard.”

Giana gathers herself. Inside his sleeves, Anakin’s hands are curled into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms. He can imagine it now - Kenobi is a tough match for he and the 501st. The Order has been so focused on propping up their troops on the ground, they’ve neglected their supply fleets and relief efforts. A team like Li-Sha Daahn’s could see off a handful of droids, worse, even. But Kenobi? No way.

“We mounted what defenses we had, but it was no use. He killed them all - every one of them. Many never had chance to fire their blasters. Master Daahn isn’t - wasn’t - she was a diplomat. Not a fighter. We watched on the security holos as he moved through the ship, and it was like he didn’t even see the people he was fighting.”

Anakin can’t imagine it. Kenobi has always seemed so alive on the battlefield. The idea that he could do anything coldly, carelessly… it seems so wrong.

“He came up to the bridge. I wanted to fight, but Master Daahn - she said we could reason with him. That there must be something he wanted - supplies, a ransom, a prisoner... He cut through the door. Master Daahn said ‘Welcome, Master Kenobi.” He said nothing back, he just kept on going. His saber was lit, bright red, like a Sith. I drew mine. Master Daahn pulled me back.”

“The dragon - Kenobi - he said ‘lay down your weapons, and your death will be swift,’ the Force seemed strange. I wanted to reach out, see if I could work out what he wanted, but the dark side... it was…”

She gestures, trying to find a word.

“Like the Force was being sucked away from you?” Anakin prompts.

Master Windu and Yoda glance at one another, sharing a shrewed look.

“My Padawan has noted this phenomenon,” Master Plo supplies.

“Sucked away, perhaps… yes. That’s what it felt like. Like the wind stealing your breath,” Giana agrees. She raises a hand to her mouth, as if she’s caught in that wind right now. “Master Daahn asked him what he wanted, and he laughed at first. But then his eyes went strange. Not - strange, strange. But big. Like someone on spice. Master Daahn told me to run - but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave her - I’m so much better at fighting- I’m stronger than her. I don’t mean to be arrogant, Masters… But that was what we did, she talked, and I fought - but she wouldn’t let me - I could have done something...”

“If you hadn’t run, you would have died,” Anakin says. “He’s probably one of the best duelists I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes,” Kit Fisto agrees, gesturing at his injured tentacle. “He is truly deadly. This is the least of my injuries.”

How Master Fisto can speak so lightly of coming close to near death is totally beyond Anakin.

“I understand, Masters. But I didn’t run... That’s why it was my fault. If I’d left… maybe she wouldn’t have listened to him.”

Giana’s throat bobs, her words stuck. Master Fisto touches her shoulder again, just lightly. Master Windu gestures for her to continue with a gentle nod.

“Master Daahn drew her saber. There was nothing she could really do against him, but she tried. He seemed to want to fight, but he was just toying with her... and then he told her to surrender. And it was like the Force just - it was like it was opening up some how.  I have never felt something so terrible before - like where the Force should be, there were teeth and flames and the dark-”

Giana stops, breathing deeply. Anakin knows where this is going. He doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, but he’s transfixed.

“He said… He said ‘give your life to me, and your Padawan may yet live.”

Anakin lifts his head, watching Giana’s stiff features. He can picture it clearly. Kenobi, bargaining, that glimmer of hunger in his face.

“Master Daahn wouldn’t give in so easily - she said ‘Withdraw your troops, and I shall surrender.’ I thought he would agree. He was nodding his head… but then he got angry.”

“He said ‘No - you will not simply surrender. You will _give me your life_ , and then, perhaps, I shall withdraw my troops - and maybe even spare your Padawan.'"

Something about this exchange bites at Anakin painfully. A hint from the Force, or perhaps his own intuition. There’s an echo of his own interactions with Kenobi here, and it’s unsettling. Giana continues, unaware of Anakin’s distress.

“I begged her not to agree - I tried to get her to move, but there was something wrong with her. Like she’d been mind tricked. And she said.. She said ‘I understand’. And then, the dragon looked at me and he said ‘Run along, little one. No Padawan should see their Master perish.” And so I did. I did. And then the rescue team found me, and I was in a shuttle… and I felt - I felt her die.”

Giana doesn’t cry. She goes very still and quiet while she calms herself, restoring the roaring Force to a queasy, lapping sway.

The room is quiet while everyone waits to see if Giana is done, and to give her time to recover herself. Master Yoda’s ears are drooping nearly to his shoulders. Vos’ eyes are dark and troubled. Anakin wonders what a picture he must be painting. He imagines his face is pale. His mouth is certainly dry, and his palms are damp and trembling.

It’s Master Yoda who breaks the solemn silence.

“Grateful, we are, for shown courage you have, Master Daahn has. Blame yourself you should not, Padawan Mei-Sun. To the infirmary should you go, and peace, seek there.”

“Master Yoda - forgive me - how am I not to blame? I could have fought him. I could have protected her. We could have run! I shouldn’t have let her die like that-”

“Master Daahn made a choice,” Master Windu interrupts. “While the Council must now come to understand the repercussions of that choice, no one may doubt that in the moment, she chose the lives of thousands of clone troopers, navy officers, and her own Padawan, over her own. She acted in a way befitting of a Jedi Master.”

Giana nods.

“No use, for blame, has the Force. Immovable, the past is, the future, ever in motion. Change, growth, the present, the Force. These things you must meditate on. Speak on this, we will, Padawan.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda.” She bows, trembling.

Anakin watches her leave, with words perched on his tongue. He wants to tell her that he knows what it’s like. But he can’t find the right way to say it, and besides, the Council is watching. So she leaves.

Anakin turns back to the holotable to find Master Windu setting it up. They watch the security records from The Bastion. It confirms most of what Giana explained, and it’s chilling.

He watches the flickering, soundless footage as Kenobi breaches and boards the cruiser protecting the convoy. He storms the halls with only the Force as his ally. He doesn’t even draw his saber. Instead, he tears the weapons from the troopers and turns them on their owners. Blaster bolts and vibroblades are easily deflected by his armour, and he seems to barely notice them. His eyes are just as dead as Giana described. He’s implacable, almost serene.

Li-Sha Daahn is a human woman with plain brown hair, and bright, gentle eyes. She is lithe, but with a softness to her that suggests she had been thrust all too suddenly into a military role. She faces down Kenobi with a straight back. Her bright green saber is a beacon of light, but Kenobi pushes it aside with little effort. It’s clear she has no chance of beating him.

The dragon and the Jedi exchange words - bargaining, as Giana described.

Kenobi’s demeanor changes. Anakin’s stomach churns. He recognises the light that comes into Kenobi’s eyes. Kenobi’s movements soften as he approaches the Jedi Master, his saber now unlit.

Li-Sha Daahn is proud and unbroken. She steadies her Padawan with a hand on her shoulder. Having made her decision, she clips her saber to her belt. Then, with a gentle push, she sends her Padawan from the room. Kenobi lets her go, a pleased smirk finally crawling across his face.

Master Daahn offers her hand to the dragon. Anakin watches in horror as Kenobi seizes Master Daahn’s wrist, brings it to his lips-

The holo fuzzes, static jumping across the image and dissolving it to snow. For one moment, there is an impression of wings, a giant maw bearing down on the Jedi Master. The next, Kenobi presses a soft, open mouthed kiss to the inside of her wrist, breathing in.

She wilts like a dying flower. Even through the holo, Anakin can almost feel the life draining from her. His image is bloated at the edges, fuzzing with poorly contained energy, static crackles that distorts the holo.

Anakin watches it all, feeling ill, wondering how close he came to such a fate himself.

Li-Sha Daahn sinks to the floor. Kenobi lowers her gently to the ground.

The last thing Anakin watches is Kenobi raking a hand through his hair to straighten it, then dabbing at his mouth as if he has consumed a messy meal. He leaves Master Daahn on the floor. The holo winks out.

There is an ugly silence around the table.

“You understand the gravity of the situation?” Windu asks Anakin.

“Yes, Master.”

“Then please - from the beginning. What happened on Felucia?”

A cold sweat beads across Anakin’s shoulders, and seeps in clammy rivulets along the collar of his inner robes. In careful, bland terms, Anakin explains the decision to distract Kenobi. Under the hard stare of Master Windu, he explains his decisions with agonising hesitance. He keeps back as much as he can about the exchanges between he and Kenobi - but he can’t avoid explaining why he thought his (mostly) solo mission to distract Kenobi would be a good idea. Explaining how Master Qui-Gon’s tales - as well as his own experience with Kenobi - factored in, is truly excruciating.

Master Windu looks thunderous, and Master Yoda as inscrutable as ever.

“That’s crazy, Skywalker,” Vos announces. “If I tried something like that I’d be dead.”

Master Plo fixes Master Windu with a strong look. He says nothing, but Master Windu clearly knows what he intends.

Windu sighs. “General Skywalker. Your… skill… with handling Kenobi has been noted. As has his tendency for lenience with you. In light of what happened on Felucia, Master Plo has recommended that you should be briefed in full. A recommendation which the Council agree with.”

Anakin smothers a heady swoop of anxiety. The anger he’d felt towards Plo for the lack of trust the Council show in him chases it swiftly. “What exactly happened on Felucia?” he asks, and hears how his voice has darkened with irritation. Master Yoda’s ears twitch. Plo strokes his mask, a harsh crackle over the comm as he sighs.

“I think it best that we start at the beginning,” says Master Windu, his face stern. Anakin nods, though he doubts the Council particularly care if he agrees with this or not.

“What we are about to discuss is strictly confidential. It must not leave this room.” Master Windu looks to each of them in turn.

“It won’t,” Anakin agrees.

“It’s not like half the Order doesn’t already know,” Vos sighs - confirming some of Anakin’s suspicions.

Anakin clenches his teeth, but it’s not enough to bite back the question. “Am I the only person here who doesn’t know?”

“Master Vos exaggerates,” says Windu, with a quelling look. ”Be what may, this intel is sensitive, and is not for open discussion.” Windu takes a moment, massaging his temples. Anakin suspects he has a headache coming on.

”Obi-Wan Kenobi - the Sith dragon you faced on Ryloth, and Felucia, was once a member of the Jedi order.”

This statement hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

Anakin realises he knew, somehow he always knew, but the confirmation is a blow. The fighting style, the way Kenobi spoke of the Force when he teased... Even the way he dresses. He’s such a _Jedi_ \- miserably twisted as he is. And it’s not that intel is being shared with everyone else - Vos, Fisto, they must have known him. They’d be about the same age.

Still, the Council could have spoken to him about it. Master Qui-Gon, who seemed to live his life in preparation for fighting another dragon, could at least have seen fit to warn Anakin that there was a deserter out there who might turn out like Maul. Even Kenobi might have said something about their shared heriatage. It doesn’t make sense.

“I should have been informed,” Anakin says, just short of a snarl and jabbing his finger at Windu. “It’s important tactical information, and it could have _saved lives_.”

Master Windu glowers at him. Anakin senses a ripple of poorly hidden amusement beside him - Master Fisto, once again noticing Anakin’s lack of respect. This isn’t funny though. How is Anakin meant to protect his men - himself, even! - if he doesn’t have all the intel? Anakin opens his mouth to tell Master Fisto and everyone else this, but Windu cuts him off.

“Information about Kenobi has been suppressed. This is more than a simple matter of tactics, and as I have told you before, the Council do not share information of this nature needlessly. You are being informed now, in due order, and you would do well to focus on that.”  

Anakin presses his lips together, but says nothing. He’ll gain nothing from disputing this any further. He needs to know what’s going on more than he needs to argue with Windu.

Windu takes note of his reticence, and continues his story.

“Ten years ago, following the battle of Naboo, Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi fell to the dark side. He manifested as a dragon, and on his return to Coruscant was placed into the custody of the Order. Custody which he fled, with the aid of his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Just when Anakin thought it couldn’t get any worse. “He was my Master’s Padawan? That’s ridiculous!”  

And Qui-Gon betrayed the Order, helped him escape? No. Not possible. Surely that can’t be right? Anakin’s Master would never do such a thing, and if he had, he would have told Anakin. Surely he would have. Master Qui-Gon was a good Jedi, loyal to the Order which - which mistrusted him.

For ten years, Anakin bore witness to that mistrust, and never stopped to question it. He’d thought it was his own fault. Or perhaps just his Master’s eccentricity. Does this really explain it? The years they spent sequestered in the temple, the secrecy of their excursions, the lack of ambition in those earlier missions?

“Close, were Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Qui-Gon Jinn. Attachment, this bred. Misjudgement, that attachment caused,” Yoda explains grimly.

“Why - why am I only hearing about this now?” Anakin asks, pleading this time. He needs to understand - this isn’t just about intel and preserving the Order’s reputation anymore. This is personal.

“You were a child at the time. Information about Kenobi was suppressed by request of the Chancellor, who wished to reassure the galaxy that the Sith were well in hand. Master Jinn was asked to refrain from discussing such matters with you.”

Did he really go ten years without ever hearing someone speak of Kenobi? He can barely imagine the pain that must have caused his Master. Anakin still hesitates to speak of Qui-Gon, but it’s not like he ever has to pretend that Qui-Gon never existed.

Kenobi fell after the battle of Naboo - did Anakin meet him?

A few, hazy memories drift back to him - a young man, with grey, troubled eyes, waiting with him outside the Council chamber as Qui-gon pleaded a second time for the fate of the desert boy he believed in. Anakin had thought that quiet man had gone off to be a Jedi Knight. No one spoke of him, and Anakin assumed at the time that was how things were done. And then he had forgotten. There had been so many other things to think about, to do.

Master Yoda is speaking. “...-and sentiment, that stays Kenobi’s hand, it may be.”

Anakin blinks, swimming back to the present, and swallows. “You - think that he’s favouring me? Because of Master Qui-Gon?”

Windu nods. “It’s likely that - or he’s drawing you into some plot. Make no mistake, Kenobi is dangerous. We don’t yet fully understand his motivations.”

Another knowing look seems to travel around the room.

“Did your Master ever speak to you of dragons?” asks Windu.

And here it is. The Council are playing their hand. This is just another excuse to cross examine Anakin and his Master. No matter what Qui-Gon might have done after Naboo, his Master was loyal to the Order, and it rankles that the Council still seem to think otherwise.

“He spoke to me when I asked him, but he wouldn’t say a lot,” Anakin replies stiffly, “and we visited places that have legends about dragons. Master Qui-Gon did historical research, looked up the local traditions. He never mentioned Kenobi.”

“And did he ever give you reason to suspect he was in contact with Kenobi?”

“Of course not!” he snaps, and the strength of his denial sends energy rippling through the Force.

Master Fisto’s tentacles twitch. Master Vos smirks, and Yoda’s eyes narrow disapprovingly. Another emotional outburst. Anakin clenches his jaw until his molars hurt. He needs to dial himself back, or he’ll put his command in question.

“Apologies, Masters,” he mumbles, when he’s managed to contain himself.

“That’s enough, Skywalker,” says Windu. “I brought you in on this because your insight is valuable.” The _‘don’t make me regret it’_ is implied so strongly, Anakin practically hears it through the force.

“Yes, Master.” Anakin replies, bowing penitently in his seat. He forces himself not to storm out of the Council chamber, though it takes effort. He bites back his fury with desperate effort, counting out the lessons Qui-Gon taught him for situations just like this.

Despite Anakin’s anger - which is still moving the Force in agitated circles - Master Plo looks pensive, and more than a little sorry. “We took a terrible risk with you on Felucia. It seemed likely that you would survive where others would not - if I had known then what I know now - if any of us had understood the threat Kenobi presents - it would never have been allowed. Master Daahn’s death is a grave warning indeed.”

It’s not exactly a full apology, and no where near what Anakin suspects he deserves, but his temper quiets anyway. What happened on Felucia was necessary, and perhaps even the Council didn’t realise how close Anakin might have come to getting, well, eaten. Consumed. Kenobi drained the life right out of Master Daahn, and she gave it freely. Just like Anakin had given his anger and shame. If he’d offered his life, would Kenobi have taken that, too?

“Well - whatever happened on Felucia, it worked out. I survived, and Felucia isn’t at risk anymore.” Anakin hesitates for a moment, scrubbing his hand through his hair. The Council want insight. There’s no reason for him not to give it, if it’s going to protect other people.  “Kenobi - I can tell you about him. His weakness is exchange - that was what he wanted. I offered him a fight, and it let me get the upper hand on him.”

“Exchange, yes,” agrees Yoda. “Sacrifice. Suffering. To a dragon, sources of power these are.”

Anakin nods, but even as he agrees with Yoda, something doesn’t feel right. Kenobi consumed Master Daahn. He took her whole life. And Anakin, he’d paid with shame, anger, patience. He’d offered up life or death fights like sparring matches, and kneeled in the dirt. But none of it felt like dying, or suffering. It had been awful, humiliating, shameful. But it felt _good_ , and he has to admit that, at least to himself, he’s curious about those exchanges.

 _Kenobi’s hand, gentle behind his jaw._ Anakin’s chest flutters and he digs his nails into his palms to quiet the thought. No. He can’t think about that right now.

Vos interrupts his rumination. “I wasn’t briefed on anything like that before Ryloth. You sent me there to see if I could reason with him, but you never told me the full story - I could have paid with my life for that.”

“We didn’t have access to that information then,” Windu admits, though Anakin can see it troubles him to do so. “All our knowledge of dragons was lost when Kenobi fled the Order - in possession of the only holocron on the topic. That knowledge has faded from living memory, and our sources in the archive are extremely limited.”

Master Fisto, who has been quiet and considering for much of the meeting, chooses now to speak. “I find myself surprised. He never attempted such an exchange against me on Christophsis.”

Windu nods. “It could be that the presence of Ventress focused his attentions. I doubt his Sith Master would approve of these exchanges.”

An awful idea that has been fermenting in Anakin’s brain chooses now to percolate into thought. “He was surprised, on Felucia. It was like… like even _he_ didn’t know what we were doing.” Anakin bows his head remorsefully  “Masters… I believe that I may have given him the idea of exchange.”

Silence sweeps the table.

“Doubtful, this is,” Master Yoda says. “Of dragons, ancient stories, there are. Across worlds, cultures, many tales of this tell.”

“I agree,” says Windu, “and I do not think it likely that Kenobi would be unaware of these tales. Master Jinn was familiar with much of the esoterica concerning dragons.”

Anakin nods, grateful for the respite these words bring. But at the same time… his intuition tells him otherwise. There was something that surprised Kenobi, and Anakin knows without a doubt that whatever it was, it’s important.

“Regardless of Kenobi’s source of information, we must be wary of these _exchanges_ ,” Plo says, steering the conversation back into practical terms. “The Chancellor has asked the Order to deal with Kenobi - so deal with him we must.”

“Like I said before, get me off Ryloth and I can give it more than half a chance,” Vos says. “I’m not in the business of leading armies. This is my arena. I can track him down.”

“We’ll keep you in mind,” says Windu, suspiciously noncommittal. Vos would be a natural choice, so why is Windu so hesitant? “The Chancellor has asked to meet with Master Yoda and General Skywalker,” he adds, disapproval clear in his tone.

“What? Chancellor Palpatine?” Anakin asks, bemused. He hasn’t spoken to the Chancellor since his mission guarding Senator Amidala. The Chancellor has always been kind to him, but he never thought he’d made much of an impression.

“Your exploits have not gone unnoticed. The Senate believes you are the Jedi Order’s best hope for defeating Kenobi,” Windu explains, with more than a little dry humour. Then he draws himself up, assuming his usual commanding stature and tone of voice. “So, we reach the crux of the matter. We must determine what approach to take with Kenobi. Master Fisto - you’ve faced him on even ground. What are your thoughts on this matter?”

“Kenobi’s skill with a saber is easily evident - but he is also a skilled tactician and leader. A military defeat may be as difficult as any other arena.”

“I agree,” says Master Windu. “That lines up with what we saw on Felucia.”

“That’s Kenobi alright,” Vos agrees. “He always was the kind to think things through. He’s not gonna fall for any old trap. That means it’s gonna have to be personal.”

“Well - it’s not just that,” says Anakin. For some reason, he feels like a traitor. He puts that thought out of his mind quickly. Kenobi is a Separatist, a dragon and dark Jedi or worse, in league with the Sith. “He’s weak in the air. Not against a large group, but a couple of skilled fighters - I always had the upper hand when I was flying.”

There are nods around the table, but no one seems wholly convinced. Anakin is known as one of the best pilots in the Order - the fact that Anakin can outfly a dragon may not count for much as far as the Order as a whole is concerned.

After a long, meditative silence, Yoda speaks. “Weak to hunger, a dragon is. Exchange, sacrifice. Of these things we know little - more we must know, to understand Kenobi. His defeat, only then, will he meet.”

“The Council will meditate on this,” says Windu. “Vos - I need to speak to you later. Skywalker - the meeting with the Chancellor is three days from now. You will accompany Master Yoda. Ensure that you are prepared.”

Anakin nods. To his great relief, Windu brings the briefing to a close, finally leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

Anakin is more than relieved to get back to his rooms. He bypasses the cafeteria and no doubt scandalises a number of people by avoiding greetings in the hallway and eschewing good manners. He all but throws himself through the door of his apartment, one thought chasing another.

There are so many things to process - the sick image of Kenobi, with his indecent mouth and awful hunger wrapped around Li-Sha Daahn’s pulse point, draining her life away. Does the fact that she supposedly gave herself freely make it any better? The Council, reticent, hesitant, not sharing anything until it’s almost too late. Master Qui-Gon, too - why didn’t his Master _tell_ him, warn him, anything! ‘Oh by the way, my old Padawan is a dragon and he might take a liking to you. Watch out for that, maybe?’

It seems like there's nobody, not a single person he can trust to be straight with him. Not even Kenobi has been honest, though why Anakin might hope for that is beyond examination.

What happened to Kenobi? The solemn, quiet man he met one fateful day on Tatooine isn’t anything like the lively, fiery man he fought on Ryloth and Felucia. But then, maybe Padawan Kenobi has more in common with the blank eyed automaton that cut down Master Daahn’s troops without so much as blinking. What was Master Qui-Gon thinking? Did he really free Kenobi? Qui-Gon must have believed there was good in him, to betray the Order. Did he steal the holocron for Kenobi too?

Were the Council right to distrust his Master? The thought makes him angrier than he can bare. If only Qui-Gon were here to explain. There’s no one for him to talk to, no one he would _want_ to talk to except Qui-Gon.

Anakin sits and fumes for a while, but he can’t think about Master Qui-Gon and stay angry at the same time, because thinking about Qui-Gon means he has to think about Qui-Gon’s lessons.

Anakin makes himself tea, and sits on the mat in the living space, and stares at the last living plant Qui-Gon left him with - a patient and forgiving succulent from Tatooine - until he’s feeling suitably blank.

Staring at the plant, and avoiding drinking the tea, which he still secretly hates all these years later, he tries to meditate. It never comes easy to him, especially alone. He has too much to think about.

_Kenobi._

Anakin turns the name over and over in his mind. He imagines saying it. _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ , the same way Kenobi says his name - that mixture of savoring and taunting. He runs light fingers over the bond that’s still hooked into his mind, woven through the fabric of his very being. The response is distant but clear. It feels like an echo of his situation - tea, calm surroundings, reaching for peace.

Just for a second, he lets himself imagine that both he and Kenobi are sat, drinking bitter tea from a clay pot, brooding about just what they mean to each other.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. His Master’s old Padawan. The dragon who taunts him and teases him, who challenges him, who has left the battleground more than twice now, rather than harm him.

Anakin breathes deeply, staring down at the pale, golden tea. He takes a sip. It’s fragrant, bitter, and slightly woody. He curls his nose, then sets it down. He likes the smell more than the taste, really.

Qui-Gon might have understood. He would have helped guide Anakin to the light, the way he always did; firmly, but with compassion.

What makes Anakin different? Why has Kenobi saved (savoured) Anakin, when he could have consumed him entirely? Anakin cringes, feeling out the neatly braided Force bond that wires them together. He’s not going to get an answer for that today. He should set it aside, and just try and get some peace.

Qui-Gon’s maxims for meditation: Acknowledge your thoughts, don’t react to them.

Through a mixture of focusing on the scent of the tea leaves, which reminds him thoroughly of all the times Qui-Gon guided him into meditation, and violently forcing himself to discard thoughts as they enter his head, Anakin manages a measure of peace, for maybe half an hour.

Then he comes back to himself, goes down to the hangers, and thinks very hard about motivator coils and the injectors in his starfighter until he gets tired enough to sleep.

He dreams of a sea, ebbing and flowing, and a presence that guides him out into the waves.


	5. In the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things start to go wrong, and for once it isn't Kenobi's fault.

He is lying on hard, smooth stone, listening to the billowing roar of the ocean. The sea washes in and out, stirring his hair as it swells over his face, then back. Anakin stares up through the clear water at the endless stars above him, watching colours ripple through the black like curtains of shimmering fabric. The water rushes into his nose, ears, eyes, and out again, and because he is dreaming, it doesn’t hurt. He floats in the surge, moored by a slight pressure of hands on his shoulders.

A high, piercing noise disturbs him. Irritably, he waits for it to subside, still fixated by the roiling turquoise-violet patterns above him. But an indistinctive noise is beeping, and Master Windu is telling him something important. But that voice is vague, far away, tinny.

It sounds like his comm.

Anakin bolts up. His comn is on his nightstand, beeping furiously. Anakin knows who it is before he even picks up.

“Master Windu?” Anakin mumbles, fumbling to strap the comm to his wrist and trying to answer it at the same time.

“At last, Skywalker,” says Windu, with a mixture of impatient relief and reluctant irritation. “We need you in the central security station immediately, the temple is on high alert.”

Anakin scrambles into his boots and armour, hopping from one foot to the other and struggling with the ties. He can’t remember one time as a Padawan that he saw the temple go on alert. With the war, it seems to happen on a monthly basis.

What could it be this time. Has Kenobi attacked the temple? Is that why he’s needed? It seems to be all the Council thinks he’s good for lately.

The halls are busy with Jedi carefully organising to repel the threat and protect their numbers. They flatten themselves to the walls as Anakin passes at a speedy jog - a marked difference from the glowers he usually gets when he runs in the halls.

Inside the security station, Master Windu, Yoda and Kit Fisto are staring at a schema of the temple. The corners of Windu’s lips are tilted down, and a line creases the center of his brow. He’s gesturing at something to Yoda, who is nodding seriously. The Masters shuffle to make space for him as he enters.

“Up late, Skywalker?” Master Fisto prods genially, welcoming him into the circle.

“I was in the hangers ‘till morning,” Anakin blushes. His hair is still a mess, and he probably needs to wash up. He ended up going to bed as the sun rose, and it now looks to be early afternoon. He covers a yawn by scrubbing his face.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Windu, a little cooly. “Earlier today Master Yoda sensed an imminent incursion by unknown intruders. Ten minutes ago the ward system went down, and I don’t need to tell you that we can sense something is wrong. We’re certain that the temple has been infiltrated.”

“Is Kenobi involved?” Anakin asks, hoping to get it out of the way.

Windu’s face remains impassive, but Master Yoda blinks at him curiously. Anakin fretts that he’s given something away with his one track mind. Not that there’s anything to give away. He’s shared what the Council need to know, and anything that happened in the past can stay there.

“No,” says Windu with a dark look. ”Bounty hunters, with someone on the inside - we suspect Cad Bane may be involved.”

“What are they even here for?” Anakin asks, bemused. “No one just _steals_ from the temple. I mean, it’s full of _Jedi_...”

“We do not yet know,” replies Master Fisto. And that explains the grim looks. How can they protect what they don’t know is in danger? The whole temple is huge, there’s far too much ground to cover, even with every Master patrolling the halls.

“Little do the Jedi have. Yet great value there must be, in what our thieves desire,” Yoda says grimly.

“Or it has importance to the war effort?” Anakin suggests. “There’s no profit in weapons or ships stolen from a Jedi, but information…”

Kit fisto nods, humming. “Transmitter codes, dispatch numbers… and it is all in the east tower communication centre.”

“That matches with our suspected entry point,” Master Windu replies, indicating a spot high on the east wing of the temple. “Master Fisto - attend to the communication centre. Check if anything is awry and defend it from intruders.”

“Understood,” says Kit, and leaves the room immediately, with one hand on his saber and his tentacles curling restlessly behind him.

Windu now turns to Anakin. He narrows in on the schematics and indicates to the high eastern platform. “The intruders entered the ventilation shafts here.” Windu pauses, and his mouth quirks with a look that on someone else might be humour. “Skywalker - your _other_ specialised skill is required. I recall you’ve gained yourself a lot of experience foxing the temple’s security systems.”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck. “That’s true, Master. I do know the temple and it’s, uh, security flaws.”

The Jedi temple is massive, but it’s just one building - one building Anakin and Master Qui-Gon were confined to for a three year stretch. Master Qui-Gon had called a lot of their jaunts “Stealth Training”, but Anakin wasn’t always quite stealthy enough. He’d gotten caught enough times for his exploits to be well known to the Council.

“And perhaps you would do well to share that knowledge in the future,” Windu reminds him grimly. “This shouldn’t have been allowed to happen in the first place.”

“True, this is, but on the present, focus we must. Fortunate, we are, that know the temple well, you do.”

Anakin grins. “Don’t worry Masters, I’ll track down this bounty hunter. Then maybe we can look at some upgrades later on, I’ve been thinking about the warding in sector 3-26- ”

“ -Yes,” Windu agrees shortly, cutting him off - not unkindly, but with the air of someone who knows Anakin could go on for some time. “The Council will work with the temple guard to protect key areas of the temple. You’re our best shot at tracking these bounty hunters down before they get the chance to do whatever it is they’re planning. Go now.”

With a brief nod, Anakin leaves to spend most of the day toiling through the temple.

 

Sneaking through the vents like a Padawan brings back a lot of memories, and in the melancholic mood Anakin has been in lately, he can’t help thinking back to the first time he got acquainted with the temple’s secret passages.

He’d been relatively new to the temple then, just past his tenth birthday. Everything had been overwhelming, from the number of people, to the temperature, to the sheer amount of water, to the food. At the same time, he’d been going stir crazy. There was no escape from it all. There were Jedi in every hallway, in the cafeteria halls, in the training rooms. Nothing made sense, and he couldn’t escape it.

Except for in the vents. Master Qui-Gon was too big to follow, and that first time, Anakin had crawled and wriggled himself so deep into the temple he’d got lost for two days.

Most of those little tunnels and vents are too small for Anakin now - but that also means they’re too small for a bounty hunter, especially one the size of Cad Bane. Anakin tracks Bane through the central air system, checking tactical display every now and again to see if any local wards or traps have been triggered.

There’s no record of anything triggering, but the background auditing system shows a number of security units with a reset date stamp of today. It’s a perfect trail of breadcrumbs. With the data on his wrist mount, Anakin can clearly see the path that Bane will take. Dead ahead along the shortest path, there’s a nasty thrutch and squeeze past a cooling coil. The clearer, if slightly longer path follows along the wiring routes. The cooling coils are always baking hot besides.

Smirking, Anakin remotely triggers the reset on a few security units along the projected path. Whoever is guiding Bane through the system won’t be able to reset those units for another five minutes. Bane will have to wait, and it should give Anakin a chance to catch up.

Anakin follows the trail, and takes the path through the cooling coil. The air around the coil is shimmering with heat, and he presses the back of his hand to the surface to test the temperature. Hot, but nothing more than he can stand, especially with the Force on his side. He pulls himself up into the tight gap between the coil and the wall, and shuffles along for a few meters. As he moves to drop down into the access passages, Anakin hears voices.

Sure enough a few moments later, Anakin catches an echoed conversation from a little further down the hallway below. That’s definitely Cad Bane - Anakin would recognise his oily snarl anywhere. The other speaker is tinny, and vaguely cultured - likely a droid.

“Todo, are you done yet?” Bane growls.

“These things take time,” the droid replies plaintively.

Anakin drops down out of the cooling unit, using the Force to lower himself as gently to the ground as possible. The rustling fabric of his tabards and the soft pad of his feet seems cacophonous.

It seems to be enough to warn Bane of his presence.

“Somethings going on, we’re running out of time. Are you done with that hole?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then go - to the communication centre-”

“But-”

“Now!”

Anakin sprints forward, hoping to catch them before they have time to dig deeper into the temple.

Moments later, an explosion tears through the venting system, sending bits of twisted metal flying into the wall just meters ahead of him. The heat and noise nearly knock him down, and Anakin staggers backwards, his ears ringing. Clutching his head, Anakin lurches towards the source of the noise. A huge hole has carved into the wall, leading into a set of tunnels beneath the communication centre. Behind the hole, an access hatch to one of the vaults has been damaged. Were they trying to get access through the vaults? It doesn’t seem right, Anakin was certain he’d found their path. Anakin puts his questions aside. He must be close to Bane now, and there’s no time to spare.

He squeezes through the gap, clanging down the corridor, no longer concerned about stealth when his quarry is surely _right there_.

Anakin rounds a corner, and nearly falls over Master Fisto - it’s only a warning from the Force that keeps him from sending them both flying.

“That droid!” calls Master Fisto - and just ahead of them, a tiny techno service droid is making a clumsy dash for a ventilation duct.

Together, they sprint after the droid, Anakin reaching out with the Force to grab it. The droid beeps weirdly and Anakin has a flash of insight from the Force-

Oh no.

He flings himself between Master Fisto and the droid, and Force pushes it further down the duct. It shrieks as it goes. Anakin braces himself, drawing the Force close. A moment later, the droid explodes, sending shockwaves, shrapnel and a wall of fire towards the two Jedi.

Anakin takes the brunt of the flames, hot air searing across his skin and down his throat. Master Fisto manages to shield them from the shards of buckled metal, and they land in a heap against the computation decks in the Comms Centre.

Anakin’s head cracks against the sharp corner of a display unit. His eyes water with the pain, but he pushes it back to check the rest of himself, half expecting to see his skin blackened from the fire. Fortunately, the pain in his head seems to be the worst of it. His tabards are torn and blackened, and his nose and cheeks are hot and stinging, but the fire has caused less damage than he expected - he must have been blown clear before it could really catch him.

“Are you alright, Skywalker?” says Fisto, struggling up. The Nautolan winces, pressing a hand to his shoulder, from which sticky ichor is oozing.

“I’m fine,” says Anakin, checking his head. “What _was_ that?”

“A decoy, I am sure,” Master Fisto croakes. He doesn’t look well - more than one of his tentacles are nastily blistered, and his cheekbones are pale and shiny with burns. In the dull light it’s hard to tell, and there’s no time for proper first aid. “They must be after something else…”

Anakin frowns, the burned skin on his nose stretching uncomfortably. “Oh no - the holocron vaults - they blew open a hatch-” the Force rings with the truth of his statement. If only he’d stopped to sense it back in the tunnels.

Master Fisto nods, gesturing that he should lead the way. Anakin bolts back the way he came. His body swiftly reminds him that it’s just been damaged. Anakin ignores it, trying to release the pain from his head and bruised limbs into the Force. Just his luck to get caught in two explosions in the same number of minutes.

They scramble back into the venting system, Fisto nursing his shoulder. Master Fisto comms into Windu and Yoda while Anakin leads him back to the damaged access hatch. Anakin hovers by the doorway, well aware that as a Knight he’s not really meant to be into the vault.

Fisto grins at him. “Help me in, young Knight. My shoulder is giving me trouble, and duty calls.”

Anakin scrambles through the hatch, and turns to help the Nautolan Master in after him. As soon as Master Fisto is steady, Anakin wastes no time in looking around. This is probably the only chance he’s going to get to see this place. He’s probably got about as much chance at sitting on the Council as his Master.

The vault is dark, lit only by the pale, winking light of the holocrons, which tower up into the ceiling in long, shimmering columns. He can sense them in the Force, little snippets of life energy that hum softly with intention and power. They soothe the pounding in his head, and his aching bruises. The holocrons closest to the broken hatch seem shaken somehow, their energy slightly discordant.

“This one’s missing,” Anakin says with a sigh, indicating a gap at chest height where a holocron should be.

“So it is,” says Master Fisto. “An account of the histories of Master Sioban Loz. I do not know her.”

“Is there, I don’t know, a directory?” Anakin asks. Whatever was on the holocron might hint at what the bounty hunters were after.

“Find Master Nu,” says the Nautolan. “I will remain here, and see what else may be awry.”

Anakin passes Yoda and Windu as he leaves the vault. Windu gives him a suspicious look. Like he was going to mess anything up in there. What the heck do these guys even think of him - it only makes his headache worse. He pushes it into the Force, and heads off to find Master Nu.

It takes him a while - she’s not at the desk or in the stacks, or helping anyone. She’s laid out senseless behind a bench, and Anakin dashes over to check her. She moans softly, and Anakin helps her sit up.

“A changeling,” she crokes, clutching her jaw which is stained by a deep, purpling bruise. Anakin steadies her while he scans the archives. It’s too late, though. The changeling could look like anyone by now, and Bane is long gone. He should have stayed with the vault. He _knew_ Master Fisto was at the comms centre, but he went charging in anyway, as usual.

He sighs, and helps her up. “I’m sorry Master Nu. We need your help to identify a missing holocron.”

“Missing? Oh - oh no. Surely not…”

“I’m sorry Master Nu. It’s gone. It’s the, uh, histories of Master Loz.”

“Lead me to what is missing, Knight Skywalker.”

Anakin does, helping her back into the vault. He takes a quiet pleasure in the fact that he has another genuine reason to get back in there.

The Council members are gathered around this place where the holocron is missing. Master Nu, leaning heavily on Anakin’s arm, reaches out to place her hand over the gap.

“Master Loz,” Says Master Nu, her voice strengthening with certainty. ”She was a student of the unifying Force, and its manifestation in the bodies of the cosmos. These were records of her studies. Academical study of the Force. I cannot imagine the use any thief would have for such an item.”

“Thank you, Master Nu,” Windu says kindly. “It seems that nothing else is awry. We must secure the vault, and then discuss what must be done.”

While the Jedi Masters tend to the vault, Anakin escorts Master Nu to the healers. Not wanting to miss anything, he dashes back to the library, where Master Fisto, Yoda and Windu are sat talking. The light and space of the library is soothing, after so long spent in cramped tunnels. Windu gestures to an empty seat, and Anakin joins the discussion.

“Strange, this is. Little use, this item is, save for the knowledge that it preserves.”

“Well, why it’s been taken matters less than the fact that it’s missing at all,” says Master Windu.

Anakin could have prevented it, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry. I was right on their trail, but they fooled me.”

“In what way?” Master Windu asks.

Anakin explains how he tracked Bane through the tight passages between the vault and communications centre. Windu nods approvingly as Anakin describes tracking the faults in the security systems, and sighs as Anakin explains how he lost track of them. Windu and Yoda listen with equanimity, neither absolving him nor blaming him for the loss.

Kit Fisto, still favouring his shoulder, gingerly pats him on the back.

“It was not your fault, Skywalker. I would have made the same decision. After all - there is little a bounty hunter can do with a holocron.”

Anakin sighs, still irritated with himself, but meets Master Fisto’s warm black eyes gratefully. “They must want it for _something_. They went to a lot of risk to get it. The missing one is right next to the hatch - maybe they just needed any old holocron?”

Windu nods, his protuberant eyes flinty and dark. “This is true. Master Yoda, have you sensed anything further?”

“Sensed an intrusion, I did. Sensed intent, I did not. Many uses, a holocron may have.” The little Master’s ears droop sadly.

Anakin bites his lip. He doesn’t want to make things worse, but this is serious. “We think this was Cad Bane and some changeling or other, right? Perhaps some of Master Qui-Gon’s old contacts in the lower city might have heard about the hit?”

The air in the room chills at the mention of Qui-Gon. Fisto and Windu’s eyes meet, and wrinkles multiply across Yoda’s weathered face. Anakin immediately regrets bringing it up. But then Windu nods, firm and decisive.

“We must take any opportunity presented to us. Do what you can, Skywalker. We will send out to all our informants and friends for aid. Recovering this Holocron must be our utmost priority.

Master Yoda sighs, tapping his cane on the floor decisively. “To the Chancellor I will go. Explain this matter I will, his assistance request. And to our meeting, a delay.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can, Masters.” Anakin replies.

“I will ready my men,” Fisto offers, “That we might make a fast pursuit.”

“Not before a visit to the healers,” says Master Windu sternly.

He’s right - Master Fisto is a mess. In the bright light of the library, the mess of burns covering his face, hands, tentacles and clothing is obvious. A piece of shrapnel has made a mess of his shoulder. Anakin was right in front of him when the droid exploded. How Anakin escaped with only a few blisters is a mystery he’ll just chalk up to the will of the Force. Perhaps Nautolan physiology is just more sensitive to burns.

Yoda accompanies Anakin to the travel hub, preparing to take a shuttle to the Senate building.

“Right, we were, to place our trust in you,” the little Master advises him.

Anakin sighs, relieved and exhausted at the same time. “Thank you, Master Yoda. It was still my fault Bane got away. I’ll do my best to get that Holocron back.”

Yoda gives him a sharp eye. “In the Force, you must trust. Guide you in this, it will.”

The shuttle pulls into the travel hub, and Anakin helps Yoda aboard.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin says again. “Give my apologies to the Chancellor.”

“Hmm,” says Master Yoda, and with that the shuttle pulls away.

Master Yoda’s platitudes never really fill Anakin with confidence. Nevertheless, when he reaches out to the Force, he can feel its guiding hand. Boarding his own shuttle, Anakin begins his journey into Coruscant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we got art for the fic! Look at [this fabulous picture](https://freelancerstellar-blog.tumblr.com/post/165006770855/put-down-the-knife-the-night-is-here-chapter-8) of Kenobi eating poor Li-Sha from last chapter! Thank you so much [Cerlinfia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerlinfia) <3
> 
> So stoked to finally start bringing Part 3 to you guys. I've got so many exciting things planned for this part, with much more Kenobi planned in.


	6. Needle The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is missing a final overview by the lovely Kaiserine, any mistakes are mine, not hers.
> 
> ^The beta fairy has been and waved her magic wand, baby! -Kai

Investigative work isn’t exactly Anakin’s forte. He’s more of a burst in and beat ‘em up kind of guy. Of the two of them, Master Qui-Gon had been the real talker. The man could get blood from a stone, and was never afraid to use the Force to resolve a matter.

Anakin has never managed well with delicate application of the Force. Nevertheless, he likes to think he has a natural charm that serves him well in situations like this, and he has Master Qui-Gon’s methods to follow in a pinch. He also has plenty of contacts under Coruscant from his swoop bike days, who’ll share information for the right price. And Master Qui-Gon’s old friends and contacts will often help him out when he really needs it.

Evening is creeping in as Anakin exits the temple, and he hasn’t eaten at all today, so food is an obvious first choice. He kills two birds with one stone, and stops by Dex’s. Master Qui-Gon had started bringing Anakin here a few years after they’d arrived at the temple. Master Qui-Gon traded stories with the Baselisk, keeping him up to date on their various adventures. Often, Dex would slip Master Qui-Gon a data stick or an interesting looking trinket. Qui-Gon would sometimes return the favour, handing over small, tightly wrapped parcels. Not knowing what was on those data sticks or in those parcels had driven Anakin nuts for a while.

When they weren’t gossiping for the sake of it, Dex proved a reliable informant. Dex had given his Master that fateful hint about Kamino, in those last days before Geonosis. Dex seems to have a finger in every pie in the galaxy, and he has more than enough fingers to go around.

Today, Anakin sits with the Baselisk, trading his own gossip over a bowl of salty, fat rich soup. Or at least, he tries to. Dex seems a little tight lipped today. When Anakin drops a hint about Cade Bane, he catches a ripple of Dex’s recognition in the Force. But then Dex seems uninclined to share, and puts him off, once, twice, a third time. Finally the Baselisk gives him a hard look.

“Let it go kid. This one ain’t for you.”

Anakin sighs. “Sorry Dex, I just need some kind of lead.”

“Not today Kid, and not from me, neither.”

“Come on Dex, not even for me?” Anakin asks, grinning winningly.

Dex claps him on the shoulder and lumbers back to the kitchen, leaving Anakin in a state of confusion.

Are they being watched? Anakin scans the room, but all he sees are the usual Coruscanti denizens: bright dresses, big hair, brocades, and even what looks like another Jedi, obscured beneath a brown hood. But Cad Bane is dangerous, and Anakin forgives Dex for being wary of stirring that kind of trouble. Anakin finishes his soup and pays up, all without catching the smallest hint. At least the soup was pretty good.

The Coruscanti sky turns orange, then red, then violet, as Anakin drifts lower down. The buildings and walkways above him gradually eclipse the sky, until all he can see are dark lengths of durasteel interspersed with palely lit window voids. Eventually, he drops into the undercity, and all he can see is the bottom of the plate.

At a Hutt run cantina, Anakin takes a seat at a chance table. The whole place is full of greasy speed jockeys and gamblers. Even in his customary blacks and browns, Anakin’s tabards stand out.

“No Jedi,” grunts a pale blue Twi'lek with an impressively bulging forehead. After a moment, Anakin recognises him as a rival racer. They’ve traded parts occasionally. They aren’t exactly friendly, but they also aren’t unfriendly, which is always a plus. Besides, Meecho owes him a favour for not turning him in for a doctored acceleration unit.

Anakin smirks. “Come on Meecho, you know me.”

“Even you, Skywalker, stay out of this.”

Anakin can see why - the credits on the table are piling up. Meecho must have got a win in recently, and he’s trying to build on his winnings.

A grizzled Wolfman eyes Anakin suspiciously, and a Weequay fixes him with an outright glare. Jedi aren’t exactly popular around a chance table, and that’s what he’s relying on.

“I’m just here to watch,” he grins, cajoling. “It’ll make the game more interesting. Come on, try me.”

Meecho, the Wolfman, and the Weequay trade looks.

“No way, Maru,” says Meecho, his lekku twitching irritably.

“Awww, let him stay, Meech. Barchek thinks it might be a bit of fun…” the Weequay weedles.

The Wolfman makes an affirmative sounding noise.

Meecho snarls, but nods to the dealer, and just like that Anakin becomes another element of the game - someone who might be compelled to tip the game in their favour. The round begins with each player calling out their bets. Anakin makes a show of his reactions, hissing and humming and nodding his head. There’s no logic behind it - he’s got no idea which way they cube will fall. He’s not going to use the Force for ends such as this.

The point is to egg them on, build up their curiosity, and eventually piss them off. Anakin does a few parlour tricks, swirling his straw around his drink, and levitating credits around the table towards whoever wins the round.

The credits mount, and the players grow bolder.

Eventually Barchek the Wolfman grows impatient. He growls and pushes nearly all his credit stack into the table. He lays out coloured cards to place his bet - primary colours: two red, two green, two blue.

“Two sky, no primes,” the Weequay hisses, placing a stack of cyan, magenta and amber cards on the table.

“Two greens,” Meecho grunts, laying out the cards in front of him.

“Dull,” Maru says. “You won’t beat Barchek with that.”

“Three, then,” Meecho hisses, adding another card to his hand.

“You so sure about that?” Anakin nudges him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he replies irritably. 

Anakin shrugs, quirking his eyebrows in a way he knows is particularly punchable.

The dealer tosses six chance cubes across the table, two reds, two greens, a blue - Maru spits, definitely losing out. The last cube spins a moment, tipping between green, blue and cyan.

It falls on blue, and the wolfman rumbles, pleased, raking in his credits.

Meecho slams a fist on the table, as Barchek claims a heap of his hard won credits.

“You did that,” Meecho hisses, jabbing his finger in Anakin’s chest. “Always cheating, Skywalker. First swoop bike, now this.”

Anakin laughs. “Come on Meecho, I’m not even playing. I’ll give you a hint on the next one, yeah?”

“No, no hint,” Meecho replies, standing from the table and grabbing at Anakin’s collar. Anakin lets him, knowing that he can stop Meecho before he gets a good punch in, even at a close distance.

The Weequay laughs. “Come on Meech, he’s having a bad day. Let him lord it over us mere mortals...”

The Wolfman barks out a laugh. Slowly, Meecho grins, letting go of Anakin and dusting down his shoulders in a way that isn’t exactly friendly, but also isn’t outright threatening anymore. Meecho’s grin turns into a sneering laugh.

“You Jedi should not be so cocky today, perhaps?”

Here it comes. Anakin helps Meecho back into his seat, posturing with what he hopes looks like false bravado. “Now why would I do that when I still remember last year’s Light Night Swoop Final?”

Meecho purples, but forges on. “Ah, you Jedi, very high and mighty… word is you got shown the heel of the boot today, eh?”

Anakin lets go of the Twi’lek’s shoulders, folding his arms into a defensive posture.

“Word is you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anakin prompts, glaring perhaps a touch too theatrically.

Meecho falls for it anyway. “Hah - that’s not what they’re saying down at the-"

The Wolfman snarls loudly, drowning out Meecho’s sentence. Meecho cuts off with a jump, nearly spilling his drink.

“What Barchek said,” the Weequay says darkly, resting his blaster on the table. The dealer looks on uncomfortably.  “Can it with the talk, Meech. He’s playing you. Get your info elsewhere, Jedi.”

Anakin sighs. “Fifty credits could change your mind, though…. right?” he says, plying his words with the Force. He uses Master Qui-Gon’s technique - be subtle, and play for something they might already be thinking.

Meecho’s eyes sparkle with greed, “I could- oof! What was that for, Barchek?”

The Wolfman snarls, apparently not taken in.

“Hang on Jedi, did you just-" Meecho, now extra purple, unholsters his own blaster and flicks the safety button menacingly. “Get lost, Skywalker. No one’s talking on this one, not even with the dough involved…”

Anakin nods his head, scrambling away. “Got it. Well, nice talking to you gentlemen…”

Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. Anakin slinks off, cursing. Why is everyone being so tight lipped? When there’s gossip about, usually at least one person will spill to a Jedi. Apparently it’s not the same when the Jedi are being targeted.

Something about this job has the entire district on edge. He tries a few more tables but with little luck, running out of patience quickly as every person he talks to seems more and more suspicious. Giving this bar up as a lost cause, Anakin heads back out onto the streets to try elsewhere. Time is ticking. Every moment he wastes down here, he can almost feel Bane and the Holocron get further away.

Qui-Gon’s lessons: First and last, trust in the Force. Anakin takes a deep breath. The air is fume filled and disgusting, but the action of breathing itself is steadying.

The Force swirls, placidly, stained with rich gold from the thread that links him to Kenobi. It guides him, parting his flickering thoughts like a curtain to show him the path he should take. Somewhere in the undercity he will find the answer. All he needs to do is follow the pull of the Force. As he makes his decision, a strange hue creeps into the Force. A touch of darkness, a half heard, whispered hint that makes Anakin think of Dex’s nervous, tight lipped attitude.

Curious, he makes his way to a transit elevator that will take him down into Coruscant's underbelly.

As he goes, he sends a brief message to the Council to inform them that he’s continuing the search, then follows the instinct that guides him further down. Eventually Anakin finds himself in front of a garishly lit club pouring thumping music out into the street.

The club is squashed between a burnt out, heavily curtained apartment that he assumes is a spice den, and a crumbling, parasite infested hotel. The sign above the door is a holo of a scantily clad, pink Twi’lek woman. She saucily raises her leg, beckoning with alluring grace. The Force is telling him this is the place, so he pulls up his hood and drifts inside.

The atmosphere is thick with sweet smelling smoke and acrid chemicals. They sting his nose and burn in his throat, leaving him light headed and a little dizzy. The thumping beat of the music is so loud he can feel it in his chest, and it threatens to bring back his headache. Despite the miasma, Anakin feels confident. There’s some soothing undercurrent, a pull telling him to sit still here and keep quiet.

Feeling buoyed by his own certainty, Anakin buys a drink, takes a seat at the bar, and waits. For half an hour he hears nothing of interest, but he remains in place, schooling his patience and exercising the trust in the Force Qui-Gon tried so hard to impress upon him. He sips his first drink greedily and buys another to avoid the interest of his fellow patrons, who drain their glasses swiftly and mechanically.

The room is dimly lit, save for a few ultraviolet fluorescents that obscure and obfuscate defining features with their pale light. With his back to the room, Anakin begins to feel exposed. The air tastes and smells foul, and as the night draws on the music becomes deafening. He sits with dwindling patience while the Force insists that he is where he needs to be.

Half way down his third glass, the Force flickers, and a hooded stranger slides in between Anakin and the seat next to him. The stranger flags the bartender with a nod. The brown cloak and pale tunics suggest Jedi, but Anakin is certain that’s not the case. Anakin turns to watch the stranger, poised to take advantage of whatever the Force presents.

The bartender approaches, and the stranger orders drinks.

Anakin recognises Kenobi’s voice before he sees his face. Anakin’s heart jumps and stomach leaps with something between anxiety and anticipation. Then he turns to look at Anakin, drawing back his hood just enough to let a little of the sickly lighting pierce the shadows.

Kenobi’s eyes are pale and straw coloured under the fluorescents. The light saps his hair and beard of colour, and they seem almost black in contrast with his washed out skin. His lips are soft, and when he grins at Anakin, his back teeth flash sharply.

Anakin flinches, a whole body startle, and grasps for his saber.

Kenobi grabs his wrist before he can draw, and at the same time accepts two smoking, blue drinks from the bartender with a murmured thanks. He never for a moment betrays their muted scuffling beneath the bar top. Anakin yanks at his wrist, but Kenobi’s grip is iron, supernaturally strong.

Anakin’s wrist burns, and he vividly thinks of Li-Sha Daahn, who spent her last moments with her wrist pressed to Kenobi’s soft lips and whiskered jaw. He finally jerks his wrist out of Kenobi’s grasp - or at least Kenobi lets him go - and reaches for his saber again.

Kenobi thrusts a drink into his hand instead. “Don’t,” he says amiably. “You want to talk to me.” Kenobi gestures to an empty table at the centre of a curving booth. “Let’s sit down somewhere private, hmm?”

Anakin follows the dragon, scowling, but helplessly ensnared nevertheless.

He can’t avoid the fact that this is the meeting the Force ordained. As he goes, he reminds himself to stay wary. It doesn’t pay to look too eager.

“I’m in the middle of an investigation,” he snarls, as Kenobi deposits him in a high backed booth, complete with torn seats and a sticky plasteel table.

He crowds in next to Anakin, trapping him against the wall of the booth. Anakin scoots away as best he can, and finds himself braced between sticky synth leather and Kenobi’s thigh. Unwilling to drive away what might be his only lead, but all too conscious of the danger Kenobi presents, Anakin sits still, gripping his glass too tightly.

He can’t let Felucia happen again. He has to remember, Kenobi really is dangerous, in both the physical and mental sense. There will be no exchanges this time. Not when he knows how deadly they can be. The last time he did this, he had no idea what Kenobi was capable of.

Kenobi settles, elegant and comfortable despite his surroundings, tugging his hood a little further forward. Their thighs chafe together beneath the table, fabric on fabric. Anakin can feel the heat radiating off him. Kenobi leans in close to Anakin, ducking their heads together so they can hear one another through the music. When he speaks, his voice buzzes in Anakin’s ear, sending prickling shivers down his spine.

“Your investigation. Yes, I heard. Cad Bane and the ‘Holocron Heist’, hmm? Terrible business, the Council must be beside themselves...”

Up close, he can smell Kenobi through the haze of the club - a strange mix of hot metal, human skin and ozone, layered with something sweet and pleasant. The effect is hypnotic, and Anakin find himself drawn in.

“So you _do_ know about that.”

“Of course,” says Kenobi. He rests his elbow on the table, fingers curling around his glass, trailing through the condensation. His hands are square and elegant, the palms and finger pads calloused. Anakin distinctly remembers the feel of them against his jaw, and at the memory a gluey, molten feeling spreads through his stomach.

“Right,” says Anakin, forcing himself back to the present. “So it _was_ a Separatist plot. And for some reason you want to share that with me?”

Kenobi drapes his other arm over the back of the booth, curling in close so Anakin can catch sight of the glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh yes. It was well planned, well funded. You’ll never catch Bane in time.” Kenobi tugs his beard in a gesture chillingly reminiscent of Qui-Gon, which at least serves to bring Anakin out of his dazed arousal. “Not without the right intel.”

“No kidding. That’s why I’m _here_ -”

Kenobi laughs, and Anakin grits his teeth.

“Here? Good grief. What ever did you hope to find?” Kenobi tilts his head, letting in just enough light to let Anakin see him raise his eyebrows.

Anakin squints irritably at him, his patience waning. The lights shimmer across Kenobi’s sharp teeth, and Anakin remembers what exactly it is he’s dealing with.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Anakin hisses. 

Before Kenobi can reply, Anakin’s comm whistles. Anakin claps a hand over it to muffle the sound. Kenobi takes Anakin’s distraction as an opportunity to shuffle closer, their legs and sides pressed together as they huddle conspiratorially. Anakin sighs and answers his comm.

“Skywalker, report,” Master Windu barks, before Anakin even has the opportunity to greet him.

Anakin has been gone for hours, and he still has nothing useful to report. Kenobi is dropping hints - if only Windu had waited a few more minutes, Anakin might have some actually useful intel. Stupidly, he glances up at Kenobi in askance - to see his reaction, to see something. If he would only share the smallest snippet of useful information...

Kenobi grins. Before Anakin can answer, he snakes his arm around Anakin’s shoulders, pulling his head closer so he can whisper to him. Anakin turns his ear to Kenobi’s head.

“Say nothing to him of our meeting, and I’ll tell you Bane’s next move.”

This is exactly the lead he needs, from the worst possible source. He doesn’t have time. Every second is precious. He needs to get intel back to the Council. He jerks his head in agreement. Kenobi squeezes his shoulder encouragingly.

“Uh, one moment, Master,” Anakin stammers into his comm.

Anakin turns the mic off, and meets Kenobi’s eyes, expectant. Kenobi takes him by the chin, turning his head so he can once more whisper in his ear. “Good boy,” the dragon hisses. Anakin swallows. He wants to punch Kenobi, but he stays quiet, buying speed with his compliance. “Bane will pursue Master Bolla Ropal. He wishes to obtain the Kyber Crystal he carries.”

Kenobi leans back to give Anakin space, their eyes locked together. Anakin feels the urge to give something substantial back down to his guts. He tears his gaze away before Kenobi can work any of his hazy Force suggestions on him. Cooly, Kenobi gestures at Anakin’s comm. Anakin nods, and repeats the information back to Windu.

“This is troubling,” says Windu. “Return to the temple immediately.”

“I’ll be there shortly, Master.” The comm goes mute. Anakin stares at it blankly.

Kenobi’s arm is still around his shoulders. He slips it down Anakin’s arm, fingers spread wide. It feels like a vise grip, proprietary, holding him in place where he’s tucked in to Kenobi’s side. Anakin squirms, too hot and sticky in his many layered robes. He takes a swig of his drink. It doesn’t help - his head is already muzzy with alcohol. If nothing else, he needs to be a little less drunk now.

“Well done,” Kenobi purrs, somewhere between a Master praising a student for good form, and an owner praising a pet for good behaviour. Anakin prickles, and Kenobi smirks.

Anakin blows out a deep breath, trying to centre himself. No doubt Kenobi knows more than he’s letting on - with a little luck and the will of the Force, Anakin might get it out of him. He braces himself, trying to work out how to get through this without giving more of himself than he really should.

Kenobi huffs, back to flashing his toothy grin. His fingers rub loose circles into Anakin’s bruised arms, somewhere between painful and gentling.

"Really, now Anakin. Relax. There's no need for hostility on either of our parts. We have the same objective."

“So, you want to tell me what that objective is?” Anakin asks, and because he really wants an answer to that question, he forces himself to relax, slumping against the dragon’s side. Kenobi raises his eyebrows.

“Come on, Anakin. You can do better than that. Try and use at least a little subtlety.” He chuckles and reaches down to pat Anakin’s knee. His hand is damp with condensation from his glass, leaving a dark mark on Anakin’s leggings.

Anakin is vividly reminded of the contrast between the grim, implacable soldier-Kenobi on the footage the Council showed him, and his provocative playfulness on Felucia.

Suddenly furious, Anakin jerks away, all pretense of relaxation lost. “No, you listen up - this is serious! If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t even be talking to you right now!”

Kenobi yanks him back, his arm still curled around Anakin’s shoulders.

“Temper, Anakin. What would your Master think, hmm?” Kenobi grins, the expression on his face more than a little nasty.

Anakin shoves him away, pressing tight into the wall of the booth and suddenly very cold. “Don’t you talk to me about my Master.”

A mercurial, sorrowful expression flutters across the dragon’s face. Kenobi shutters it away almost immediately, but Anakin is certain he caught a hint of something like regret.

“I suppose that would be for the best,” Kenobi agrees soberly, rubbing his hands together and shifting to allow Anakin space.

Anakin deflates. “And don’t treat me like a youngling, you can’t just-”

Something in Kenobi’s face makes Anakin pause.

Kenobi grimaces. “Ah, yes. The younglings.”

Anakin sits up sharply “What younglings?”

“What do you - oh. Of course, you wouldn’t have encountered Bolla Ropal. You would have been too old. He is the keeper of the kyber crystal that holds the list of Force sensitive younglings, and that is Cad Bane’s next objective.”

“And that’s why he wanted the holocron… so he can read the crystal?” Kenobi nods. ”But he’ll need a Jedi-” Anakin gapes. “Wait. Is that what you’re after from me? No way. I’m not going to open that Holocron. Not for you, not for anyone. Absolutely not.”

“Please.” Kenobi rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to, I’d open it myself. But Bane has his methods.” Kenobi sighs grimly. “Once he has the list, it will be a small matter to identify suitable younglings, and kidnap them. They will be taken by the Sith, and trained as their servants.”

While Anakin mulls this terrible thought over, Kenobi drains his glass. Anakin follows suit. How many is that? Definitely enough to make the world seem a little hotter and wilder than usual. Kenobi’s arm is creeping back around his shoulders. They huddle together in their little booth, approaching something like companionable. Anakin carefully steadies himself, drawing his limbs in tight to his body. He keeps getting distracted, Kenobi is altogether too alluring. It must be a dragon thing.

Think, Anakin reminds himself, and trust in the Force. Reaching for the Force this close to Kenobi is probably a bad idea. But the way Kenobi is talking - there’s got to be some reason he’s doing this. He’s effectively sabotaging his own Master’s plans.

“The younglings. You don’t want that for them. You don’t want them to suffer that way?”

Kenobi stiffens, his lips pursing. “You can let go of any misapprehension that I am motivated by anything other than self interest.”

“What?”

Kenobi sighs. His mouth is curled in that knife-like smirk, and his eyes seem oddly flat, not unlike his blank murderous expression from the holorecords.

“A dragon is the true servant of the Sith. I cannot permit any more rivals... these younglings. They would be powerful indeed, trained from birth-”

“But you’re a dragon- ”

“And so might they be, given the necessary influence. The Sith will use the list to identify younglings who were once like me - potentials, who might never manifest should they remain in the light. They will take those younglings, train them in the ways of the dark side. They will fall, without ever knowing the touch of the light. They would surpass me easily. I simply cannot allow it.”

Kenobi turns away. Anakin sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand here. What do you get out of coming to me? Why not go to someone else?”

“Why am I helping you?”

Anakin shrugs. “Yeah.”

Kenobi grins and knocks their knees together cajolingly, and pushes their glasses into the middle of the table.

“If I fail to retrieve the younglings in time, perhaps you and the Order will - you are sufficiently motivated to, after all.”

“Right,” says Anakin. That makes sense - Kenobi wants these kids out of his hair. He’s having to sneak around behind his Master’s back. It makes sense that he’d bring in people who want to help, and there’s no one who gains more from this than the Jedi. And no better cover - of course the Jedi will pursue the younglings. There’s no question of it. No hiring bounty hunters or calling in favours. No messy evidence trails.

Just one meeting in the heart of Coruscant to set the Order on the right track.

Anakin doesn’t know why he feels disappointed. It’s not like Kenobi ever gave him reason to believe he’s any better than that. He is what he is.

Kenobi detaches himself from Anakin and slips out of the booth. Then he turns, offering a hand. Perhaps it’s the drink, or the strange, companionable mood that’s crept over them, but Anakin accepts.

They struggle together through the writhing crowd on the dance floor, and then finally out onto the streets. Under the shimmering pink light of the holo sign, their eyes meet. Then, without a word, Kenobi steps out into the night.

Watching the way the dragon navigates the narrow alleyways and bustling corridors, Anakin wonders if Qui-Gon Jinn ever guided the young Obi-Wan Kenobi through Coruscant’s underbelly, the way he had guided Anakin.


	7. All The Guns of a Battery

Anakin gets back to the temple for sunrise, just in time to tag along on the recovery mission. He boards a shuttle up to The Negotiator, joining Master Fisto, and to his surprise, Giana.

As they make their way off planet, Master Fisto fills Anakin in on what they expect Bane’s next moves to be - and, of course, his suspected intentions. To Anakin’s relief, it matches well with what Kenobi told him.

The fact that Kenobi is involved at all is enough to make him feel deeply uncomfortable. The last thing Master Fisto and Giana need is another run in with the dragon. His dishonesty weighs on him - as does the fact that without Kenobi, they would have no leads whatsoever.

“We will be glad to have you with us, Skywalker,” says Fisto. “I would like to recover Master Ropal on the ground, but your experience in spaceside battle will aid us should it get to that point.”

“Let’s hope we’re fast enough for your plan to work,” Anakin replies.

“Yes. I should fill you in,” Kit adds. “Master Ropal is stationed on Devaron with a battalion of troopers. Devaron has seen little action thus far, and Master Ropal has remained primarily as custodian and guard. We have not been able to reach him to warn him that the Separatists’ attention now turns his way.”

“So he might be caught unawares?”

“We will move quickly, and bring him aid,” Giana says, looking grim.

“Right,” says Anakin. He’s not sure she’s ready to be back in the field - if there hadn’t been a war to throw himself into, he’d probably still be mourning Master Qui-Gon. Giana’s braid remains hanging from behind her ear. She’s worn, the leathery skin around her eyes seems dry and scaly, and the lines on her face are deeper even than yesterday.

Giana purses her lips, noticing his attention. “Do not doubt me. Master Fisto is preparing me to face my trials.”

Anakin thinks Giana has faced enough trials. She doesn’t look like she’d appreciate him saying so.

“I don’t doubt you,” Anakin replies, “you’ll do well, I know it.”

“We will do well together,” Kit says.

There had been no one Master who came to complete Anakin’s training. He’d spent time with Plo, Ki Adi Mundi, Master Windu - even Yoda had seen fit to step in, all of them keen to see him through his trials, and none of them willing to provide the source of comfort and guidance he still needed, that he had lost after Geonosis.

If nothing else, he’s glad that Giana will have something like that. He can’t think of a better Master for serious Giana than playful Kit Fisto - they will make an interesting pair.

By the time they reach the negotiator, Anakin is nodding with tiredness, a mixture of nauseated hangover and bone deep exhaustion from the long night. Kit shows him to a bunk, and Anakin collapses gratefully onto the narrow bench. He drops into sleep immediately, desperate to fill the six hours to Devaron with as much rest as possible.

He dreams of drinking tea from Master Qui-Gon’s old set, which Qui-Gon broke and replaced only a few months before Geonosis. The set is laid out on a tray very precisely, as Master Qui-Gon used to. Beside the pot lies a small, smooth stone, a silver knife, and a lock of hair. He runs his hands over each of these items, then picks up his steaming mug. The feeling of the rough, crackled glaze, the weight, the scent, are all intimately familiar. He looks down into the mug, at the pale amber liquid, and meets golden eyes in the reflection.

Anakin startles awake, grasping for the fading images of the dream - something about tea, and Master Qui-Gon. Had those been his own eyes he’d seen, staring at him out of the cup?

Anakin shakes it off. Qui-Gon would have told him not to dwell on dreams. They’re probably due to arrive shortly. A quick check of the Chrono confirms he has less than an hour left before they’re due to exit hyperspace.

Anakin joins Master Fisto and Giana on the bridge.

“You should have woke me,” Anakin complains, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Kit laughs warmly. “I could not bring myself to wake you. You had the look of a man who has spent too much time in strange company,”

Anakin flushes - if only Kit knew who his company had been. “All in the service of the mission, I assure you,” he demures.

“You were the one who found the intel,” says Giana, who has been watching their exchanges like a tennis match.

“Uh, yes.”

“How did you discover the nature of the attack?” she asks, and her voice is so flat she seems almost stern. Anakin is reminded once again that Giana is probably older than him.

“I used my contacts in Coruscant,” Anakin replies, which was what he’d intended to do. Does Kenobi count as a contact now?

“What kind of contacts?” Giana presses, as if she has never heard of a Jedi consorting with the criminal underworld before. Anakin swallows - he has the strong feeling that if he says the wrong thing, he will never recover Giana’s esteem.

“Many Jedi have contacts with whom they exchange information,” Kit says, coming to Anakin’s rescue. Giana nods. “Well… Knight Skywalker’s contacts are of a more… nefarious sort.”

Anakin laughs. “I wouldn’t call them nefarious - they’re smugglers and gamblers, not murderers and traitors. Well, at least they’re not just murderous,”

Giana looks like she wants to ask more questions, but the thirty minute alarm sounds, and the bridge becomes a flurry of activity as they run the weapons and systems checks, and prime the shields.

Giana and Master Fisto head to the hangers to ready their forces for landing - they’ll need to land swiftly. Bane has a head start. Anakin takes the bridge, where he’s most comfortable. His starfighter is in the main bay, in case he needs to join the battle. Clone Commander Narrin is leading white squadron, and they’re prepared to launch as soon as necessary.

He misses Torrent Company and the 501st. Hopefully Aayla is looking after them well. At least he has Artoo - safely on board with his starfighter.

Anakin stations himself at the central console, staring out through the wide transparisteel windows to catch his first glimpse of the state of things above.

“Real space in ten,” announces the officer at the helm. “Nine, eight,”

Anakin braces himself, checking the technical read outs. The comms station are ready, prepared to try hailing Master Ropal as soon as they are able.

“Seven, six, five,”

The Force nudges him with foreboding - something has gone wrong on Devaron, he can feel it.

“I want forward shields at full power the moment we drop out of hyperspace,” he commands.

“That will delay the ground assault, Sir”

“Four, three, two,”

“Do it anyway,” Anakin snaps.

“One.”

Then they drop out of hyperspace into a blast of plasma fire. The shields raise to double strength just in time to deflect. A swarm of Federation cruisers blot out sight of the planet, many of them prepped to jump to hyperspace.

“General Skywalker,” Kit hails him from the hanger. “The forward shields are blocking our departure.”

“I know - I don’t know if you can see it from here but-” The engines of one of the nearby frigates glows with a telltale light - their hyperdrives. “- Captain, I want a full port side blockade, prepare to target their hyperdrives. Master Ropal could be on any one of those ships, we can’t let a single one get away.”

“I take it we are too late,” says Kit, his voice broken and distorted by the ship’s comm systems failing, as power is diverted towards their canons and port side shields.

“Perhaps - we’re trying to raise him now.”

“No response from Commander Stag or Master Ropal on planetside. Their devices aren’t functioning,” the officer at the comm station informs him.

“Then he must be on one of those ships - Master Fisto, we think they’ve already got Ropal off planet,” Anakin presses a button, switching channels. “Command Narrin, prepare to launch immediately, we need to stop those ships from getting away.”

“There’s little point in us preparing to land - we will join you on the bridge shortly,” Master Fisto replies on the other channel.

His voice is cut off as a massive blast shakes the ship. An alarm starts blaring. Anakin checks the readouts for damage to the hull or decompression, but their shields are holding.

“Preparing to return fire,” helm informs him.

“Hold fire - what’s the alarm for?”

“Proximity. Small ship, incoming from hyperspace-”

A tiny, civilian freighter bursts out of the black, seconds away from entering their line of fire. It swerves, tearing towards the surface right though the Federation fleet. What kind of crazy idiot tries to make land straight through a battle?

The Federation waste no time firing on the tiny vessel. Anakin cringes, watching bright flashes of laser fire burst off the ship’s shields, creating plumes of wild light - some kind of experimental shielding technique perhaps? Many shots seem to go wide - the Force must be with them.

Master Fisto and Giana join him at the central panel a moment later, staring out with him at the debris filled battlefield.

“What could they possibly be thinking?” Giana cries, watching the bright blasts of fire burst and flare around the little ship, which is making a suicidal head long dash right through the middle of the the Federation’s fleet.

Anakin shrugs, folding his arms. “There’s not much we can do for them - they did about the worst thing they could possibly do.”

“Yet we may still help,” Kit responds. “Comm station - hail them. If they can’t make it to the planet, offer them sanctuary.”

Anakin purses his lips. It’s the right thing to do, of course, and Master Qui-Gon would have done the same - but with a Jedi Master captured, a holocron lost, and the future of the Jedi order at risk? The last thing they needs is a clumsy civilian in the middle of a battle.

Whatever broadcast the comms station sends out to the little freighter is swallowed by alarms. The opposing ships rain a battery of fire across the hull of The Resolute, taking advantage of their hesitance. Vulture droids swarm out across the battlefield.

“We’ve lost it, General. It’s dropped off our scope - likely been shot to pieces.”

Another casualty of war, then. There is a few seconds of silence, as this sentiment echoes around the bridge. Anakin sets his jaw.

“General Skywalker - might I suggest that you begin preparation to join the battle?” Kit suggests.

“Commander Narrin can deal with the vulture droids - I need to get wherever they've got Master Ropal."

“I’ll go with you,” says Giana. Anakin raises his eyebrow. “I’m no use here. I’m experienced, and you can’t go alone.”

Anakin thinks on it – it’s true that Giana is experienced. She’s a senior Padawan, and Anakin is almost certain that she even has more experience in the field, albeit not in these kinds of high stress circumstances.

“If Master Fisto doesn’t need you?” Anakin concedes.

“Go,” says Kit, nodding his head firmly. “I shall find the ship where Master Ropal is held, and guide you to him.”

“Thank you, Master,” says Giana.

 

\--

 

“Follow me carefully,” Anakin commands, twisting through the debris and mess of battle. Giana follows skillfully. She’s not as creative a flyer as Ahsoka, but she picks up on Anakin’s moves quickly and seems confident and capable of following him.

“How are we going to get on board?” she asks, as they swoop left to avoid a twisting column of vulture droids.

“Like I said, follow me,” Anakin replies, banking hard and firing on a droid trying to get behind him. Artoo beeps at him - two more to the left. Giana curses, trying to follow him, and Anakin can’t help laughing. “Sorry - maybe not that time - just - follow me in general!”

“Do you know where we’re going?” she asks, deadpan and flat as ever. In the midst of battle it comes off more as comical. Anakin wonders if she’s had to train that into herself - but he doesn’t have time to finish that thought, because a nearby frigate sends a barrage of missiles after them. Artoo sends him a readout of the shields, and Anakin lets a couple of the missiles burst across them, for the sake of keeping them off Giana.

“Of course I know where we’re going!” Anakin replies - he does, he’s just a little distracted.

“The frigate we’re trying to board is to the left, Master,” she replies, with a slight note of exasperation in her voice.

“Right you are,” Anakin says, and swerves left, then down to avoid crashing into another frigate, and then up again to get back on the correct trajectory. He spins right, and has enough time to catch sight of Giana, cursing and following behind him, until they crash through the forcefield into the hangar of Bane’s frigate.

There’s no time for further talking. A flank of B2 Super Battle Droids is marching on their fighters, footsteps ringing, metal on metal. Anakin launches from his cockpit right into their midst, clearing a wide swathe in the centre. Through the haze of smoke and sparks, Anakin catches sight of Giana. She’s staying by the ships, trying to prevent them from being damaged. She directs their fire back onto the droids on the outside of the flank, clearing the edges while Anakin works on the centre.

Cautious, but capable. She’ll no doubt make a better Jedi than he does.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Giana calls. Anakin picks his way through the remains, back to their starfighters.

“Hail Master Fisto,” Anakin tells her, “and keep an eye out for the second wave of droids. Artoo, get out here and help me pull up some schematics.”

He helps Artoo down, and they head over to the computer dock. Artoo, ever the consummate slicer, seems to have more trouble than usual. Anakin runs a diagnostics - it looks like a huge portion of the ship’s systems are being run from a single remote unit, and it’s causing system delays.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing - depending on where the droids on board are being controlled from, it might slow their reactions

With some effort, Artoo pulls up a schematic, and sends it to Anakin’s wrist unit and Giana’s palmtop.

“Good work, Artoo - can you find Master Ropal’s location?”

Before Artoo can finish, a blast rips through the ship, knocking Anakin off his feet. Artoo detaches from the port, rather than risk damaging his tether. They tumble across the floor as the ship tilts portside.

“Giana! What the heck was that!”

Giana is clinging to her starfighter for support.

“Master Fisto says they took a shot at the hyperdrives!” she shouts, over the screech of metal, “I think the reactor must have been caught in the blast!”

Anakin curses.

“The gravity distributors are failing - must be a problem with the power.” At that moment, the lights flicker, plunging them into darkness, lit only by splashes of green and red blaster fire from the battle outside the forcefield.

The sensation of tilting continues, then suddenly rights - Anakin stumbles, and Giana shouts.

There’s a noise of ringing metal on metal - a second wave of droids.

“Giana - if Master Fisto has disabled the ship’s hyperdrive, Bane’s priority is going to be getting Master Ropal off this ship. We need to split up - take Artoo, and go deactivate the escape pods!”

“What about our fighters?”

“We’ll find some other way off, if we need to. Our main priority is finding Master Ropal, and getting that Holocron back,”

“Yes,” says Giana, after a long pause.

“Artoo’s sent you the schematics. I’ll draw fire - you hide, then get to work on the pods.”

Giana pulls up the schematics on her palm top. “Looks like there’s a small hanger on the starboard side too - if we can’t get back to this side of the ship, I’ll meet you there!”

“Good idea - the starboard side will take less damage,” Anakin says. He doesn’t need the Force to guess that getting off this frigate is going to be a lot harder than getting on.

Giana nods, and scampers across the dark bay to crouch behind a set of crates. Anakin stands, facing the open doors of the hanger, and the row of red lights that mark the sights of the battle droids.

He settles into the opening stance of Ataru, drilled into him by Qui-Gon. The droids start firing on him, but he’s already leaping towards them.

He redirects the first wave of fire back into their ranks, and carves a huge swathe through the first few lines, targeting blasters and joints and delicate circuitry. They fire volley after volley of shots at him, but when he’s right in the centre of them, they end up taking out each other more than targeting him. The blasts that do get close, he deflects with his saber, ducking around it to turn his defensive sweeps into offensive maneuvers.

“Good work,” Giana tells him, over their comm units.

“Well, I am a Jedi knight for a reason,” Anakin says.

“I never said you weren’t,” Giana replies, and seems almost confused by his jesting.

“...right,” says Anakin

“Find Master Ropal,” Giana reminds him. Anakin wonders if she was ever this bossy with her own Master.

“I’m on my way,” he tells her.

Artoo didn’t have time to track down Master Ropal’s location, but it’s no matter. Anakin can find him through the Force. He breathes in, out.

Here is the Force. It is stained with the dark side, coiling and bucking. It’s probably his own volatility causing the disturbance - his impatience, and desire to find Master Ropal. He lets that go, and reaches out further, aligning himself with the current and allowing it to carry him.

A torrent of agony tears through the Force, echoing through the ship like a voiceless scream. Master Ropal! He is alive, in pain, and close to death.

Anakin hails Kit. “Skywalker,” Kit says, before Anakin has a chance to report. “You must evacuate soon as possible - the reactor is going to explode!”

“I can’t,” Anakin replies. “Master Ropal is here - he’s alive. Prepare the med bay, they’re hurting him - and make sure Giana gets out!”

“I will. Get to Master Ropal as swiftly as possible, for I fear for all of you.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can,” Anakin replies, and he breaks into a jog.

While his body moves on autopilot, Anakin settles into his urgency, allowing it to fuel his need to act and move. If he lets himself get distracted, he’ll lose his focus, and with it, any chance of finding Master Ropal.

Anakin has to get to him. It’s unfair that he should suffer for Anakin’s mistake.

The featureless corridors of the ship fade into the background, support struts and clanking machinery and burnt out droid parts blurring with his movement. He focuses on the lost Jedi instead, using his wavering, suffering signature like a compass. He reaches for the Jedi’s mind, ignoring the way the Force coils and thrashes.

_I’m here, hold on._

Master Ropal cannot respond, but Anakin feels his wave of relief.

Anakin bursts into the brig, panting. Rows of dark doorways line a forbidding corridor, lit only by emergency lights. Master Ropal is close. The hallway is silent, and empty save for the hum of machinery. The doors must have soundproofing.

The Force is too confusing to guide him directly to where they are holding the Jedi Master, so Anakin begins a swift and methodical search instead. He should be more cautious - he doesn’t know what’s causing the disturbance. But Ropal’s pain is too urgent - he’s sure he doesn’t have much time.

Anakin tears open one door after another - two, three, four, clasping his lightsaber and ready for action.

Master Ropal’s tortured struggling abruptly disappears from the Force.

Anakin’s comm buzzes. Anakin curses, afraid that Ropal is gone.

“What is it, Giana?” he snaps, half way through opening another door.

“Master- --  --there- --- -ange- -- - - fouzzt” Giana’s message is broken in static. Something must be disrupting their comms.

“I can’t hear you,” Anakin sends back, wrenching open a fifth door.

“Mas-- -- al - - ound him--  --ships!” She sounds urgent - is she asking him if he’s found Ropal?

“I’m close to him, Giana - I don’t have time for this, I’m sorry!” he calls, hoping she will understand. He pulls a sixth door open - nothing.

“You don’t -- -i’ve- --there’s a --- obi-  -- - --ship!”

The seventh door and there is Master Ropal, curled on the cold durasteel floor of the cell.

“I’ve found Master Ropal. Get ready to take him back to the Resolute.”

Anakin closes his comm so he can fully concentrate on the sight in front of him.

For a moment Anakin thinks Ropal might be dead. His Force signature is strange, somehow distant. Anakin approaches the prostrate Master as swiftly as caution will allow. Master Ropal is delicately built, his green face yellowing with exhaustion. Anakin turns him over gently, trying to remember where the pulse point is on a Rhodian, and if they have a recognisable one in the first place.

Anakin feels breath on his cheek, coming in little tiny puffs from Ropal’s long snout. Anakin sighs with relief. Slowly, Master Ropal’s dark, star filled eyes blink open.

Anakin shifts, to better support the Rhodian’s sagging body. Hopefully the jostling won’t cause damage.

“Master Ropal. Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Ropal reaches up, his wide, green fingers seeking Anakin’s face. Anakin frowns. There is some kind of metal thing on his hand.

Another burst of static from his comm - Giana again “-Is it working Artoo? Master Skywalker - Ropal is here!” she says “I have him with our starfighters!”

It’s too late. Anakin doesn’t even have chance to understand what Giana is saying. A moment later, Ropal seizes his neck.  A cruel burst of electricity strikes through Anakin’s veins, locking his muscles. Anakin screeches, a burst of sound he can’t hold back, his chest seizing with agony.

His head hits the ground with a ringing thud, and he whites with pain, writhing uncontrollably.

Blacking in and out, all he has time to catch sight of is Cato Parasitti’s wide, buggy eyes as she laughs down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much two months of concentrated self hatred. It's had more rewrites than a DC movie... and HERE IT IS, AT LAST.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for everyone who has commented and kudos'd, you guys keep me going <3


	8. Unravelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan tests his negotiatory skills...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Warning for torture scenes.

_There is a slithering in the Force. A great, black serpent, circles him. Blood oozes hot and crimson between its scales. It curls tighter, tighter, until its jaws open wide. It is consuming its own tail. It coils around him, devouring itself, devouring him, crushing him inside the scalding dark._

_Anakin’s lungs burst with desperation for air. He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He can’t even think. His skin is scorched with black heat, his body is wracked with pain. He writhes, but can’t move, shrieks without air in his lungs._

_In the red tinged black he sees the golden light of his bond with Kenobi. He reaches desperately for it, the only soft thing amidst the pain. Energy washes through him like a tide._

The pain recedes to a dull throb. Something cold and clammy touches his face.

He opens his eyes and stares fuzzily at his own face. His other self removes its hand from his cheek, and Anakin watches himself fold his arms across his chest.

Anakin’s own arms are aching, held immovably above his head. He stares at the strange, mirror-like illusion, baffled and unsettled. His vision swims fuzzily, and he blinks and squints to clear it.

Oh. It’s the changeling, Cato Parasitti. Anakin’s stomach flips queasily. Cad Bane slouches in one corner of the room, fiddling with some kind of wrist mounted device, speaking to Parasitti.

“Lead our uninvited guest here. If there’s another Jedi on board, I want him here.”

“But the holocron!” says not-Anakin. Anakin winces, hearing his own voice speaking out of his usual rhythm and cadence.

Bane smiles grimly. “Leave that to me. I want to find out if this Jedi is as resilient as the last.”

Anakin watches himself leave - Cato Parasitti, wearing his face.

“You’re too late,” Anakin says, more to distract Bane than anything else. “Giana will be gone by now. She’s smart.”

He reaches for the Force, hoping he’ll be able to find some way of getting out of this situation before it gets out of hand. The Force is slow to respond. Anakin wonders if Bane has found some way to disrupt it.

Bane pushes away from the wall with a casual shrug. “Your lies won’t work on me, Jedi. I know there’s more than two of you aboard.” As he speaks, the cell rumbles and shakes, juddering Anakin in his restraints.

Anakin’s lips curl contemptuously - Bane is confused, thank the Force.

“This whole ship is gonna blow. There’ll be none of us aboard soon.”

“Then if you want to live, Jedi… you’ll do as I ask.”

He ambles towards Anakin, smiling around a toothpick. He slips the holocron and the kyber crystal out of his pocket, and lets Anakin get a good look at both of them.

The Force is slippery, but Anakin finds a grip. As the bounty hunter approaches him, he brings it to bear in his words.

“This will come to nothing. You’re in over your head and there is no point in continuing. You will release me, and give me the holocron and kyber crystal.”

Bane stalls for a moment, affected by the mind trick. Then he laughs. “A pathetic attempt. Your tricks won’t work on me.” He spins the holocron in his hands, and it glitters brightly, a point of pure light in the murky Force.

“Neither will yours,” Anakin replies, jutting his chin. He’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming next, and he’s ready for it. This is the part where he gets tortured. If he’s right, Bane has already taken a stab at him, what with the pain he woke up in.

“You’ll find that pain is more persuasive than your Force, Master Jedi,”

Anakin grits his teeth and doesn’t respond. He forces himself to smile around his clenched jaw.

“Spare us both the time. Open it,” Bane says, and he smiles wide enough that Anakin can see the pipes that port in above his jaw.

He knows that Anakin won’t bend - he’s waiting for Parasitti to get back with their imaginary Jedi.

Anakin takes a deep breath - all too aware he may run short of air soon in the future. “No,” he replies cheerfully. He doesn’t fear pain, or whatever else it is Bane has in store for him.

“Excellent,” Bane replies. “Then you won’t make this dull for me.”

Bane’s red eyes narrow, and he signals to one of the droid guards, who pulls a lever at the control panel.

A wave of pure, white agony lances up and down Anakin’s spine. He thrashes uncontrollably, ears ringing. He forces a breath into his lungs and his whole chest spasms and cramps.

He has training for this - in distress, reach for the Force. The pain is just his body, he’s more than that…

He can’t focus.. His throat aches - that’s his yelling, uncontrolled. Anakin clamps his jaw shut, tries to regulate his breathing as best he can-

Abruptly, the pain cuts out.

“Just a taste,” Bane says. The ship shudders, rocked by another explosion. Anakin’s comm whistles and beeps, but he has no way to respond, strung up as he is.

“The ship is falling apart,” Anakin pants. “I’ll die before I open that holocron.”

Bane smirks. “Perhaps you will.”

Anakin shakes his head, teeth still clamped together. His muscles tense in anticipation. He grits his teeth, sucks in whatever air he can.

Bane signals the droid moves - Anakin’s breath whooshes out of him as he grunts in pain. His chest shakes and his limbs contort. Every muscle is on fire.

Poor Master Ropal - how long had he endured this?

Anakin calls on the Force again. It responds rapidly, soothing energy washing through him, bright and golden. His diaphragm heaves and he thrashes helplessly, but he can ignore it.

Bane cuts the power, and Anakin sinks in his restrains, hanging loosely despite the way his shoulders ache. He swallows, shaking. His head feels stuffed with cotton, and there’s a rumbling noise inside his head that sounds like - oh. It’s not just in his head - the light above the cell door is shaking.

It won’t be long now. If only he could reach his comm, he could tell Master Fisto to blow the ship right out of the sky.

Bane has noticed too. He opens his comm.

“Parasitti - where are you?”

“The Jedi is following me,” she says, still in Anakin’s voice. “I cannot speak - I need three minutes.”

“Be faster,” Bane snarls.

Anakin’s heart sinks. Surely Giana isn’t still on board? She’d seemed so steady. So Jedi-like, focused. Is Master Ropal still on board, or has she managed to get him off the ship?

“Last chance, Jedi,” says Bane.

Anakin’s throat is too raw to speak. He snakes his head.

Bane signals again. The torment resumes, waves of electricity crackling over his skin, sending blinding white bolts through Anakin’s jaw and up into his head.

He ups the power on his device until Anakin feels his heart stuttering and struggling to beat. He pushes his agony into the Force, and the Force responds, soothing, and urgent now. It laps around him.

Bane releases him from the shocks, and Anakin sags in his restraints, drool hanging from his mouth. He turns his head into his shoulder to wipe it away, and cringes as his neck screams with pain. It’s all he can bring himself to do for the time being, too exhausted and hurt to do anything more than hope that Rex is looking for him.

Slowly, he becomes aware of movement. Bane slips back into the corner of the room. Parasitti, still looking like Anakin, dashes through the door, and deeper into the room.

“Wait!” calls a voice - and she is swiftly followed by a brown robbed jedi, hidden beneath a deep hood.

“I thought so,” says that brown cloaked figure. Cultured Coruscanti accent. Sneering cadence. Anakin feels an awful hope blossom in his chest.

Anakin laughs, though it comes out more like a coughing fit. It’s Kenobi, it has to be. Anakin worried about him interfering in the mission, and now, impossibly, he’s here.

Every security droid in the room focuses their weapon.

“One false move, Jedi, and your friend is dead,” Bane hisses.

Kenobi lowers his hood, holding both hands at a surrender. Bane twitches, eyes narrowing. Anakin forces himself not to react - if he shows any sign that he thinks this is a rescue and he and Kenobi could both end up dead.

“Really Bane, are these theatrics necessary?” Kenobi’s eyes sparkle, crinkling at the corners in a disarming and altogether too performative way. “I bring word from my Master. Hand the holocron over to me.”

“Your Master’s said no such thing to me,” Bane replies. His hand twitches towards his blaster.

Kenobi moves forward, Bane signals something, and every droid in the room points their weapon at Anakin. Kenobi stills.

“We don’t have time for this,” Kenobi reasons. “My Master will not be pleased. He believes you have lost control of the situation. Hand the holocron over to me, and you will receive pay for your assistance. Or, lose the holocron, and lose what you have gained so far.”

“That isn’t what we agreed,” Bane snarls.

“We are altering the agreement,” Kenobi responds smoothly, with a curt and professional smile.

Bane narrows his eyes. “Then, you’ll wait while I speak to your Sith Lord.”

“That’s not necessary,” Kenobi say.

Bane cackles. “I think you’ll find it is.” He presses a button on his wrist device, and a holo image flares to life. Anakin feels something swell inside his chest - half terror, and half inexplicable joy. It’s a recording of Master Ropal, hanging in similar restraints to Anakin. A hooded figure approaches, helps him down - it can only be Kenobi.

Bane switches the recording off with flourish. “I think he’ll be interested to hear about the Jedi’s spy- don’t you?”

Kenobi narrows his eyes, all pretense of joviality forgotten. “I think you’ll find that’s a bad idea,” the dragon says, “and that you have misinterpreted the situation."

“Have I?” says Bane, smirking.

He waves his hand in a signal Anakin has grown to fear. Anakin clenches his teeth, hopes that he’s ready for the pain - he’s not.

For a second or two, the world spins, and black spots obscure his vision.

“ _Stop._ ” The word echoes around the room like a thunderclap, sending pulsing waves through the Force. It seems to affect the physical plane somehow too - Bane reels back, the brim of his hat ducking to hide his expression.

The pain stops. Anakin sags in his restraints, struggling to catch his breath. Kenobi makes an abortive movement to draw his saber.

“Ah ah,” Bane growls. “One press of a button and your  _Master’_ receives every second of footage from this ship,”

Beneath his cool facade, Kenobi is seething with restrained violence. His black, sucking Force presence tremors, and Anakin clings to that feeling like a life raft, riding the twisting currents in attempt to find something, anything that can get him out of this.

“What now, then,” says the dragon, and his voice is dark and rich, a more terrible version of the purring threats he’s taunted Anakin with in the past.

“We’ll see,” says Bane. He signals again. Anakin shouts in panic, and his voice warps into a helpless shriek. The dragon’s Force presence surges, blacking out the pain like a shadow passing between Anakin and the cruel desert suns. Anakin sags in relief - his limbs still judder, his jaw is clenched hard enough to break his teeth, but it’s blessedly distant.

“ _Enough,_ ” Kenobi snaps.

The jerking in his limbs ceases. Anakin blinks. Kenobi is staring at him. His golden eyes are bright, and creased with worry. Anakin stares back at him, wordless.

Bane lets them stew for a moment, before he moves again. “As I suspected, _Kenobi_. Once a Jedi, always a Jedi. One false move and I kill him.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” Kenobi snaps, “and running out of time.”

“I think not, Dragon. Open the holocron for me, and you can have the boy.”

Kenobi rolls his eyes. “We tried that already, if you recall. Only a Jedi can open a holocron,”

“Full power this time,” Bane says.

“But sir, that will destroy the prisoner,” the droid by the control panel says.

Anakin swallows. Kenobi narrows his eyes. Bane holds his hand in the air, ready to give the signal. “You're Jedi enough or the boy dies..."

Kenobi narrows his eyes. “You really think I can’t kill you, and retrieve both he and the holocron?”

Bane’s draws his blaster, focusing it on Anakin rather than the dragon. The guard droids, already aggressively focused on Kenobi, surge closer. Bane hums, pleased with himself. “Not before I contact your Master.”

Kenobi sighs, rubbing his beard.

“Don’t do it,” Anakin croaks.

“Be quiet, Anakin.” Kenobi gestures to Bane. “Very well. Hand it over.”

“Weapons first.”

“Very well,” says Kenobi, rather unhappily. Anakin can feel his seething in the Force - and they way he quiets those emotions, turning away from passion, towards the peace of the light. The dragon sets his saber down in front of him, and kneels in meditation. He could do it, Anakin realises. Kenobi can still touch the light. Anakin feels it in the Force, that cool endless night breaking away to a soft glow, like spots of light catching off the surface of a deep lake.

Bane sets the holocron down on the floor, several feet from Kenobi.

Kenobi sighs deeply, but closes his eyes. Anakin feels the Force move again. He can feel Kenobi’s reluctance, but Kenobi reaches past it anyway, pushing himself further and further into the bright, blissful calm of the Force.

He feels golden, glowing. Familiar. Anakin realises he has been drawing on Kenobi all this time - since the moment he woke up. Is this how Kenobi felt as a Jedi? Like soft sunlight and the sweet sound of water flowing over pebbles?

Kenobi’s eyelids flutter, and the holocron responds. White light pours out of the cracks and seeps out at the corners of the cube, which floats and rearranges in a display of pure, harmonic power.

Just as the light seems to reach its peak, Bane closes his fist around the opened holocron, shattering the glow. Before Kenobi can react, the bounty hunter gives the signal, and Anakin barely has time to brace himself before thousands of volts of electricity wrack through his body. His heart seizes.

Kenobi lunges.

Anakin's vision goes dark.

Anakin blinks awake a moment later on the floor, cold as ice. Every limb aches. His fingers are numb, he can hear nothing but a strange buzzing in his ears. His chest is tight, like an unspeakable weight is crushing him.

Kenobi stares down at him, his eyes luminous and bright. His hand is pressed to Anakin’s chest. It shouldn’t be possible, what he’s doing - healing with the dark side. Anakin only has space to be relieved he’s not dead. Slowly, his senses return to him.

The ship is full of the noise of shrieking metal. Periodic explosions rattle the floor.

“Come on, Skywalker, up you get,” says Kenobi, a flash of worry in his face. The dragon winces as an explosion sounds from close by.

Anakin drags himself into a sitting position, and accepts Kenobi’s arm up without complaint. He leans heavily on the dragon, who seems happy to support his weight.

“The holocron?”

“Long gone, I’m afraid.”

Anakin grunts unhappily, in pain and worried at the same time. “Great.”

“We have other things to worry about,” Kenobi sighs. “Can you walk?”

Anakin blanches. “Master Ropal - Artoo - Giana!”

“Evacuated when they couldn’t reach you. Come.”

“Ugh.” Anakin grunts. Kenobi half drags him forward, but Anakin’s legs don’t want to behave. He feels like he’s just done twenty rounds with a wampa.

“AS much as I’d love to stick around and take in the scenery…” Kenobi urges, shifting Anakin’s weight.

“Well I’d rather not,” Anakin grunts, and tries to force himself forward. He nearly topples over. “Give me a moment, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so,” says Kenobi, and swoops in. In one smooth movement, he pulls Anakin up against his chest, bends to hook an arm around his knees, and throws Anakin across his shoulders. Anakin has just enough energy to brace himself.

Staring down at the moving floor, Anakin feels the gorge rising up from his stomach through his throat. He closes his eyes to stave off the queasiness, and focuses on nothing but calming his body. This close he can hear Kenobi’s breathing - rhythmic and measured.

Kenobi carries him like he weighs nothing, and eventually Anakin relaxes, confident that the dragon can bear his weight. Kenobi seems to be supplementing his carry with the Force. His route takes them to the starboard hangar. Anakin can’t do anything but stare at the floor, and then at the ramp of a shuttle of some kind.

Kenobi sets him down in the copilots chair, and hurries to ready the shuttle for flight. The navicomputer looks well past its prime, and the cockpit is cramped. The whole place smells faintly of fuel.

“Where did you find this shuttle?” Anakin asks, as Kenobi takes off and exits the burning frigate. The negotiator is a hovering monolith, waiting for the explosion from a safe distance.

“I flew it in," Kenobi replies.

“Oh,” says Anakin. “ _Oh._ That was really stupid. We nearly blew you to pieces.”

They drift for a few minutes as the ancient computer runs calculations.

“All the more fun,” Kenobi replies, and with a smile, he punches a button, and they lurch into hyperspace.

**Author's Note:**

> [If you enjoyed this, please consider visiting on tumblr :)](http://astalitha.tumblr.com/tagged/dragonverse-writing) Share the dragon love, or feed my obsessive need to tell everyone about star wars dragons!


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